Another Man's Son
by kishiria
Summary: Char and Garma at the Academy.
1. Chapter 1

"I still think you should take the Training and Doctrines General's offer of your own room," Kishiria Zabi said to her younger brother.

"Kishiria is right," Degin Zabi rumbled to the teenager who sat across from him in the limousine. "You'll have more work than the other cadets. You should accept the room."

Eighteen-year-old Garma shook his head irritably. He wasn't feeling comfortable in his own skin at that moment, and the nagging from his sister and father was like a scratchy tag in a new shirt. "I don't know why you two are so fixated on me not having a roommate," he groused. "All the other cadets will have them and I don't see why I should be any different."

Kishiria sniffed a little. "It never bothered me."

"I'm not you."

There was silence in the car. Garma shifted inside his grey tunic, which was new and stiff. His uniform trousers weren't so reminiscent of a suit of armour. They itched like a hairshirt instead. His shiny black shoes were fairly comfortable but he knew that they'd get scuffed within an hour of arriving at the Academy. Dozel had warned him about that, in a quiet moment as the big man went over Garma's uniforms, searching for loose threads.

Garma looked up at his father. Degin was aging badly, his skeleton giving in to the osteoporosis that affected many spacenoids who had spent too much time in low-gee, usually when building colonies. Degin had been a major stockholder in the Munzo Corporation that built Side 3, but he'd always been hands-on, overseeing construction.

Garma could tell that the greyness and weariness on his father's face had nothing to do with that today, and everything to do with his youngest child leaving the nest. The old man was sinking into the high collar of his uniform as if he were melting.

Degin would adjust to Garma's absence, and the sooner the better. Garma had to grow up, in Garma's own opinion. No, his thoughts were more occupied with his sister. Kishiria had only just graduated herself and exercised her royal prerogative to rise almost immediately to the rank of colonel. She sat in her green uniform, her long red hair in a single braid down her back. Garma was refusing all the privileges she herself had grabbed eagerly and she was angry at him for it. Garma suspected he'd hit a nerve with his actions, but wasn't going to back down.

"I just hope you're sure of what you're doing," Kishiria said to him.

"Were you?"

Her grey eyes were frosty. "I turned the situation to my liking."

Garma shook his head. "I'm just going to take things as they come, like everybody else."

"You aren't like everybody else," Kishiria reminded him. "You've got the letters HRH in front of your name and believe me, that changes everything."

Garma focused his eyes on his lap. He knew Kishiria was right. Being royal made as much of a difference as being fantastically rich, and the Zabis were both. He'd managed to work with it in the past few years, but this was a new situation with people he didn't know, or more importantly, who didn't know him.

He felt doubt starting to nibble at his confidence again, as it had on and off all week. Garma had so far managed to ignore that feeling, as he had the "what the hell am I doing?" sensation that had risen in him most strongly as he was being fitted for his cadet's uniform. It had been easier a week ago, when his car had been cruising down Avenue Zeon-Deykun instead of turning down a ramp marked _ZeFA, .2 km_.

_I wanted this,_ Garma reminded himself. _I wanted this and I fought to have it. Dad opposed me all the way. Still does. Giren and Kish think I'm being a fool. Only Dozel believes in what I'm doing._ The image of his huge older brother came to his mind and he smiled a little. _Do it for Dozel. Make him proud. No—do it for me._

The limo pulled up to the gate. The sentry saluted, not challenging the royal livery on the car. As it wound its way down the avenue towards the parade grounds, it joined in a long line of other vehicles that were carrying more cadets and their parents. Garma glanced over the driver's head to the rearview mirror. A blue bus was behind them, and he could make out that it carried other cadets, presumably those whose own families couldn't bring them.

Garma glanced again at the faces of his sister and father. Much though his feelings towards them at the moment were ambivalent, he was very, very glad they were there.

The tree-lined avenue ended at the parade grounds, a rectangle of grass the size of a football field, surrounded on three sides by boxy academic buildings with bleachers on the fourth. The car came to a halt and the driver got out to open the door for his passengers. They exited the car and were immediately greeted by a tall man whose iron-grey hair was carved into a stiff brush-cut. He was wearing the uniform of a Zeon brigadier general and flanked by his sergeant major and other officers. They saluted Degin as Garma and Kishira looked on. Garma had grown up surrounded with officers like these, and for the first time he realized that he and his sister were now their subordinates. Kishiria's mouth was tight; princess though she was, here she was a lesser officer to these men and women and she hated that. Knowing Kishria, she'd receive another undue promotion soon anyway.

"General Vanderwyck, may I present to you my youngest son, Prince Garma."

"Please just call me Cadet Zabi," Garma said.

Vanderwyck shot him a glare that made Garma's blood freeze. "I don't remember asking you to say a word! From here on out, you speak only when spoken too, understood?"

Garma swallowed deeply. "Yes, sir."

"Say goodbye to your father and sister. Take your bags and go to the waiting area with the other new arrivals." He pointed to a bank of metal bleachers about two hundred meters away. It was filling up with young men and women in grey uniforms.

Garma extended his arms to his father. Degin handed his cane to the limousine driver and embraced his son. Garma hugged his father tightly, suddenly reflecting on how much he took this for granted. He felt his eyes starting to burn, so he kissed his father on the cheek and released him in order to hug his sister.

"I'll make you proud," He whispered to her.

"I'll be watching."

Garma let her go and turned to his luggage. Vanderwyck's sergeant major suddenly stepped forward and said, "Only your bags. Leave the guitar. You can't have it here, not until we say you can."

Garma's eyes fell, his gaze naturally landing on the instrument. He'd known that a keyboard would be cumbersome and out of the question, but in movies soldiers always had guitars and he'd assumed one would be all right. It wasn't even one of his better instruments. To be denied it fell on him like a denial of food and drink. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down and handed the case to the chauffeur.

"What are you waiting for, Zabi?" Vanderwyck suddenly roared. "Take your bags and get on those bleachers!"

Garma mentally welcomed himself to his new life, grabbed his bags, and started moving. The turf beneath his shoes was soft and his feet sank into it, making walking even harder. Between that and the distance, the heaviness of his bags began to drag at his hands and shoulders, the handles cutting into his fingers.

"Put your bags down in alphabetical order, in the area designated for your MOS," a senior cadet was calling into a megaphone. Cadets were rushing around frantically to comply, but Garma found MOBILE SUIT CORPS quickly and having the last name "Zabi" made his position in line even easier.

He went over to the bleachers and found a spot four benches up beside a blond youth in wire-framed glasses. He sat down on the cool metal and stared straight ahead, watching the cadets from the bus place their bags. He felt more alone than he ever had in his life.

In contrast, Char Aznable, formerly Édouard Maas of Lyon, France, né Casval Deykun, was used to that feeling of isolation. It was a constant companion if not an old friend. Like Garma, he was pondering the mission ahead of him and his sister's disapproval of it.

Sayla's anger had been nothing like Kishiria's cold and distant fury. Sayla had raged at him, pounded on his chest with her fists and sobbed until Uncle Jinba dragged her off and backhanded her across the face. Char hadn't protested. She had to be made to understand.

"That's for disrespecting your father's memory!" Jinba shouted at her. "You should be supporting Casval right now. He's going to avenge your father's murder, put the Contolists back in power, and then we can all go home. What's wrong with you? You should be following him there when you're his age."

"_Jamais_," Sayla moaned softly. _Never_. "It won't bring Papa back. It'll just keep ruining our lives!"

Jinba shoved her from the room and shut the door. He turned to Edouard and said, "Ignore her. I'm afraid she will be the weak link in our plan."

"She's very gentle, Uncle. You might be right. Take care of her, though. When things are more settled on Side 3, she might come around to our way of thinking."

"Perhaps. Still, know that I'm very pleased with your decision, Casval. This is the only way, but the path will not be pleasant or easy."

Char assured Jinba that he was ready. The next day, armed with false papers identifying him as Char Aznable, aged 18, he got on a plane bound for Von Braun and from there to Side 3. His story was that he was a longtime Zeon resident who had been visiting relatives on Earth for the summer.

Friends and allies of Jinba Ral had greased him into the system. Char Aznable was admitted to the Academy and he spent no more than a week in a hotel. He didn't have time to inspect Zum City to see how it matched up with his childhood memories, as that week was spent being fitted for his uniforms and getting the baggage he'd need for his initial entry.

Char wasn't having any of the doubts or second thoughts plaguing Garma Zabi. These years at the Academy were just going to be preparation for the mission of eliminating the royal family and bringing his father's legacy back to Side 3. He didn't particularly like the idea of being in the Zeon military, but it would be the quickest and easiest way to reach that goal.

Validation of his mission came in a way that nearly shook Char's confirmed atheism. A boy sat down on the bleachers next to him. Char took in the dark hair, the sharp features and the overall well-maintained look and realized he'd just been joined on the bench by Garma Zabi himself.

Char had known Garma as well as his sister Kishiria when he'd lived on Side 3 before his father's death. He remembered Kishiria as a bossy teenager who had doted on his sister Artesia on the few occasions she'd been asked to babysit. His recollections of Garma were fuzzy, and he hoped with all his heart that Garma's were as well. He remembered only playing with the other boy a couple of times, and that Garma had been quiet and low in energy. Eleven years later, he got an impression of intelligence and tense nerves.

Char started asking himself how he could best use this gift of fortune. He took a surreptitious second look at Garma, noticing that he wasn't the only one doing so. Garma looked pale, with a tightness to his jaw that suggested he was carefully reining in his fear.

That was his way in. Char murmured to him softly, trying not to move his lips, "Don't worry. It's all a mindgame."

Garma nodded. He appreciated this other cadet saying that to him; he knew he had to look at best like a fish out of water. He thought about whispering to him what to expect next, but wasn't sure if it would be a kindness.

"Yeah, they're going to torture us for about 24 hours," he could picture himself saying to him. "It is just a mindgame, but it's going to be a damned miserable one."

Char waited for a response from Prince Garma, but received none. Bratty kid probably thought he wasn't good enough to speak to.

The last bus arrived and departed, the last cadets to be brought by their families said goodbye to them. At last the bleachers were crammed full of cadets, waiting uncomfortably for something to happen.

Nothing did. Not for several hours, except for cadets being called out for falling asleep and having to stand, and being shouted at for talking. Neither Char nor Garma had a watch, but the pattern of artificial sunlight hinted that it had been about four hours before soldiers in the grey-green uniforms of drill cadre came to the bleachers and yelled, "ON YOUR FEET!"

Approximately one thousand cadets rose to their feet.

"LET'S DO THAT AGAIN! TAKE—SEATS!"

One thousand rear ends dropped awkwardly onto the crowded benches.

"ON YOUR FEET!"

They stood again. They sat again. They stood again. This game went on for several minutes although in Garma's opinion they weren't much more in unison in their movements

"FIND YOUR BAGS!"

Now the challenge was to rush down from the bleachers without trampling each other to reach their luggage. The other cadets were visibly disoriented by the cadre members who rushed around them, waving arms and screaming insults. Garma found them easy to ignore and had no problem re-locating his bags. He noticed the blond youth didn't either, being at the opposite end of the alphabet.

"SECURE YOUR GEAR!"

Around them, everyone hauled their duffles onto their backs and grabbed the other one by the handles. This was not fast enough , so they had to drop their gear and secure it again two more times before being run towards their dorms with orders to put on their combat uniforms and reform in the courtyard.

The cadets from the Mobile Suit Corps line moved at a fast trudge in the direction in which they were pointed. No one had said they had to stay in a line, so Garma took advantage of the fact that he was moving more quickly than the others to catch up with the blond. There was no reason to do so other than that the other young man was familiar, if only marginally so. They ended up being the third and fourth into the building, and were steered by an older cadet up the stairs and into the same room.

"We lucked out. They didn't shake us down first," Garma panted to the other man as he reached into his duffle and pulled out a combat uniform. He dropped down onto a bare bunk to yank off his shoes and strip to his briefs before yanking on his socks, appropriate t-shirt, pants, and jacket. As he started lacing up his matte-black boots he said, "You better learn to dress a lot faster than that."

The other man was still sliding his belt through the belt loops. "I'm going as fast as I can."

Garma shrugged. "Doesn't matter if we're slow or fast. They're gonna smoke us anyway." He stood and started a stretching routine as his roommate finished dressing. "Since it looks like we'll be living together in here, what's your name?"

The blond man fastened the last button on his jacket and extended his hand to Garma. "Charles Edward Aznable. Call me Char."

"Garma James Zabi. Call me 'Your Highness'."

Char raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Nah, I'm messing with you. Call me Garma."

"WHAT'S KEEPING YOU, SHITBIRDS? YOU THINK THIS IS SOME LUXURY HOTEL?" a voice roared from the hall.

"Well, that's our cue," Garma said, reaching for his patrol cap. "C'mon. This is going to be a blast."

They ran out to the courtyard along with other cadets. They rushed around each other with no idea what to do until Garma yelled, "Just pick four squad leaders! I'll be the first! Here!" He grabbed Char's sleeve and made him stand to the left of him. "Now, line up six more guys. Everybody behind each other! Quckly!"

It didn't work. Some cadets started yelling right back at Garma, which was shocking to Char because he had assumed they'd automatically defer to the prince. To his further surprise, Garma didn't fight back or act outraged. Instead, he threw his hands up in the air and barked, "Fine! You're going to enjoy the outcome, so thanks in advance."

As if on cue, two drill cadre stepped out of their office. "What the hell is going on here?" one of them, a younger, shaven-headed man demanded. "Are we running a playground here? When you're out in this platoon area, unless you're on personal time, we expect you to be formed up!" He glared once at Garma and Char and roughly ordered the other cadets to form up on them.

"Now that we've made this less of a cluster, half-right, face!"

The cadets made a half-turn to the right.

The cadre spoke the words that would from then on spark instead dread in every cadet's heart: "Front leaning rest position, MOVE!"

They dropped into pushup position. Char felt someone pressed up against his feet and he was glad he'd followed Garma into the front two positions.

"And DOWN! Up! DOWN! Up!"

Garma lost track of pushups at thirty-four, when he decided that keeping track would not be good for his sanity.

"ON YOUR BACKS! Flutter kicks!"

In boots, these were much, much worse than the pushups had been. Garma had always had weak abdominal muscles, and his feet hit the concrete at twenty.

Later this would become one horrible blur in Char's memory. Avenging his father's death had better be worth this bullshit, he thought, in pain and sweaty.

At that moment he saw the cadre crouch beside Garma Zabi and mutter, "I'm betting you're sorry you ever signed up, ain't you?"

"Not yet, sir," Garma said. He wasn't breathless, but he was struggling to get his feet six inches above the marching surface.

"We're going to make you be. You think you're special because your dad's the sovereign?"

"I know I am, sir, just don't treat me like it."

There was a collective gasp around Garma. Had he just said what they thought he'd said? Even the cadre was taken aback.

"All right. We won't. You get fire guard every night this week starting tomorrow. And your buddy here, too." He stood and walked away. "On your hands and feet! We're gonna bear crawl now!"

When they were finally done, forty-five minutes later, the tired and beaten down cadets were marched to chow. Char found he didn't have much of an appetite. Watching Garma, he didn't think the other cadet did either. They collected their food, which turned out to be bland but innocuous and wholesome, ate in silence, then returned to their room with orders to have their wall lockers to standard and their room inspection-ready by 0600.

As Char ironed uniforms and Garma rolled underwear and socks, the Zabi boy said, "I'm sorry I got you into this mess, man."

"I don't remember you talking me into applying to the Academy."

"No, I mean the fire guard thing. You're my roommate, you were beside me in formation, so you're my battle buddy now. My brother Dozel says—you're going to hear me say a lot of things with those words prefacing them, by the way—my brother Dozel says that when your battle gets in trouble, you get punished too. So you get to lose sleep all week long because of me."

Char hung a tunic on a hanger. Knowing that Garma couldn't begin to grasp the irony in the statement he said, "I'll get my revenge on you later."

Their room was just two beds, two desks, and two wall lockers. Setting it up to perfectly meet the standard took them until 0200. They showered briefly, changed into the PTs they were required to sleep in, and climbed into their beds.

"My brother Dozel says to sleep on top of your covers," Garma yawned. "I will. Starting tomorrow night."

"Mm," Char agreed. "What's involved in doing fireguard?"

"Not much. For two hours we sit at a desk, write letters, do some barracks maintenance. They'll probably give us the ass shift every night; 0100 to 0300 so we won't get a full REM cycle."

"Sounds like fun." Char rolled onto his side, feeling deep in his body that although he was bone-exhausted that his brain had too much to process to sleep. Nonetheless, he closed his eyes to rest them.

Within a few minutes, he heard a muffled sound that he identified as Garma Zabi sobbing into his pillow. Char lay there, listening to it. _How many nights have I cried because of Degin Zabi? Only fair his son should be crying now too, _he thought to himself. This led him to consider what action he should take. If the goal was to get close to the Zabis, should he go over to the other bed and comfort Garma, or at the very least acknowledge his tears? Or should he give the prince his space and dignity and act as if he didn't hear him?

He decided that sitting up slightly and asking, "You okay man?" would be enough.

"I will be," came the weary-sounding response. "I knew this first week would be tough. I got enough warnings from my sibs." Char saw him sit up to wipe at his cheeks. "Living it's another story, though." He sat up in bed, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Yeah. I guess you're pretty used to having your own way, and things being all cushy for you."

"Pretty much, but at least I know that. I just miss my dad already. And my music. They wouldn't let me keep my guitar. If anything's gonna make me crazy, it's that."

"Why'd you come here, anyway?"

Garma was quiet for a while before answering. "Because everybody sees me as a happy little piece of fluff and I want to show that I'm not." He turned on the bed to face Char. "Y'see, my mom died in childbirth."

"People still do that?" Char blurted out. "I thought that only happened in the Middle Ages."

Garma snorted. "Obviously they do because my mom did. A blood vessel in her uterus broke and she bled to death before they could do a hysterectomy in time."

"God. Man, I'm sorry."

"Anyway, my dad's been really overprotective of me ever since because I do have some health problems I inherited from her. If he had my way, I'd be a day student a US3 or University of Zum City becoming heaven knows what after I graduated, as long as it wasn't something really useful."

"What if you can't hack it?"

"Oh, I'll go the distance. Have no doubt about that. Unless something lands me in the hospital and then gets me kicked out, yeah. I'm graduating. I couldn't live with the humiliation if I didn't."

Char was reminded of a line from a movie that had made an impression on him: _Pride. My favourite sin._ If he recalled correctly, the character speaking the line had been the Devil.

"What about after graduation? No offense but you don't seem the military type."

"I'm trying not to think about that yet. I could go Reserve I suppose, but I think I'll probably end up in the Mobile Suit Corps full-time."

"You know anything about them, or did it just seem like a cool MOS?"

Garma smirked at him. "Know anything about them? Char, I was a test pilot for the Zaku prototype."

Char gaped. "Okay. Forget I asked."

"I know. I'm just a ball of surprises."

"No shit. I have to hand it to you though, Garma, you sure have set yourself up for a challenge. If nothing else, I have to respect you for that."

"Thanks, but that goes for every student here." Garma lay back down. "I'll be all right. See you in the morning."

Char lay down as well. He'd expected Garma to be spoiled and haughty, not this open about himself or with any kind of skill set. He lay gazing towards the door of their room. He still felt he would be able to get into his enemies' defenses via Garma's friendship, but he suddenly realized that a mere application of charm was not going to be enough.

When he'd said he respected Garma, Char realized to his bemusement that he'd meant it.

The inspection the next morning was the punchline of a bad joke. Drill Cadre Pevensey, the younger, shaven-headed man who'd smoked them the previous afternoon, strode purposely into their room as Char and Garma stood at attention in combat uniforms,, nodded once, and moved on. Others apparently hadn't been so careful. The two cadets could hear shouting and a bed being knocked over several doors down, followed by an armful of uniforms on hangars hitting the hallway floor a few minutes later. Char reminded himself to thank Garma for insisting they do things the way Dozel had taught him. He didn't have a chance to say anything for a while though as they were marched outside to be smoked again, then sent to breakfast and their first class.

Academics wouldn't start for another two months, in September. This was the first of several classes on military etiquette. After Cadre Pevensey was through, they were allowed to stand and stretch before Cadre MacNair, a man in his mid-30s who reminded Garma somewhat of his brother Giren, began a lecture on the rules and military laws that would be regulating their lives from now on. After that was a break for lunch, then outside to the classroom for weapons draw. Char had never handled any firearm other than a hunting rifle on his uncle's estate and the ZM-72 semi-automatic rifle now in his hands didn't resemble that at all. He glanced over at Garma, who was peering into the magazine well. He wiped it with his fingertip and seemed displeased with the results.

"This thing is filthy," he muttered.

"I'm sure they'll teach us how to clean it."

"Oh, I know how to clean it, I've seen Dozel do it. He's got his own, modified for his big ol' hamhock hands. I've got a cleaning kit on me; I'll give you a tutorial when we're on fire guard."

"Ah hell, that thing."

"Sorry about it again, battle."

"Don't worry about it. Again."

"Okay, circle the wagons," Cadre Pevensey said.

The cadets gathered in a circle on the floor around his desk, rifles by their sides or across their knees.

"All right, here's what's going to be happening these next nine weeks. What we're going to be doing is that time-honoured tradition known as "Beast Barracks". It's been called that since a good century ago on Earth. We never saw any reason to change it; we're in barracks and it's gonna be beastly. Matter of fact, it's gonna suck." He looked a bit wry. "But we're gonna have fun. Priorities this week are gonna be unarmed combat and basic rifle marksmanship, known since time began and God was a kid as BRM. Okay, first drill we're all going to do is learn to break this thing down."

The class continued except for one 15-minute smoking because two cadets were horseplaying with parts of their weapons and needed discipline. Afterwards they re-assembled their weapons and went to supper. Finally they were allowed to return to their rooms to shower and get into their PTs to shine boots and prepare for the next day.

Char and Garma were the first fire guard shift. They got back into uniform and reported in to the desk at the intersection of the two wings of the barracks. They helped a cadre do head count and then sat down at the desk for the next two hours.

"Well this is pleasant," Char said.

"This is the good shift. This and the last one. I'm surprised we got it so yeah, enjoy. I brought the cleaning kit. Okay, first you take this part of the rod and you separate the upper and lower receivers..."

Char watched Garma go through the routine of cleaning the weapon, breaking down the bolt assembly and carefully going over each piece with a cleaning cloth or wire brush. The prince was, to his eyes, trying to absent himself from their surroundings by focusing on each piece of the rifle.

Even so, at the end of the shift Char still heard Garma sobbing into his pillow before he slept.

"Our first PT session will be 1-1-1's," announced Cadre Dos Santos from the high wooden PT stand. The cadets were in staggered lines, inside the track, shivering in the lower pre-dawn temperatures.

Garma was suffering particularly, trying to relax his muscles so that they wouldn't twitch so badly in the chill. He glanced over enviously at Char, who seemed to be having no such problems.

"You will do as many situps as you can in one minute. You will do as many pushups as you can in one minute. Finally, you will run one mile as quickly as you can. This will determine if you spend the recess in between Beast Barracks and the beginning of the semester at home with your families or here with us cadre." Her smile became sharklike. "Getting in shape so that you WILL be ready to pass your entry PT test when you begin the semester."

Garma almost whimpered. The fear of not passing the test immediately overwhelmed him, even though he knew that failure was not likely. He glanced over at Char, who looked more bored than anything else.

One thing about this early stage of Academy life that made things both easier and harder was not having to think. Garma may have been tense, but there was no way out of having to line up and wait for his turn at the exercises and the run.

Garma waited in line, holding the PT chart that the cadre would mark with his results and stretching. Char had ended up two lines away, so he didn't have his battle buddy's support as he waited.

Garma's turn came. He lay down on the grass with his knees flexed, the cadet who'd had a turn ahead of him holding his feet. On the word "go" he was able to do 38 situps, a passing mark. He moved on to the pushup line and scored 25 pushups.

He sighed. Both grades passed, but neither was stellar. Dozel would be disappointed.

As he headed towards the starting line of the track, Char met up with him again. "What'd you get?" the blond cadet asked him.

Garma showed him wordlessly.

"That's all right. Gets you out of here."

"Yeah, and it's the ones we'll do at the end of every semester that count, but..." he trailed off, not wanting to go into a perfectionism-driven rant.

Char did better on the situps and pushups but trailed him by two minutes on the mile. These were passing numbers, although Garma knew he'd cut it close on the pushups.

"I'm so stupid," Garma said to Char as they both got dressed later in their room.

"This is news?"

Garma smiled a little. "I know my capabilities. I went to that PT test knowing in my head that I could pass it, no problem, and still being scared as hell that I wouldn't."

Char looked up from tying his boot. "Did it make you work harder?"

Garma considered. "Not sure. Maybe."

"That's not being scared. That's having pre-game nerves, like a professional athlete. I always got queasy before a gymnastics meet. It's not that I was worried about a bad performance, it was just pre-game nerves."

Garma nodded. "Huh. You're right. I've never done athletics, besides equestrian, and there I'm so busy worrying about my horse that I never thought about my own performance."

"Yeah. It might not go away, so learn to use it. You get nervous in front of an audience?"

"I'm a musician so I better not, and I miss my guitar!"

"Right, I forgot."

Garma pulled the combination sweeper/wet mop out of the designated closet and plugged it in. "I'm dying. So many melodies forming in my head and nothing to do but hum them to myself." Before turning on the switch and making noise he asked, "So what do you do?"

Char pulled out some cleaning cloths and started applying it to anything that could attract dust. "What do you mean?"

"Creatively. You must have some creative outlet."

Char frowned. "Never thought of that."

"Any instruments, painting, writing?" Garma turned on the floor cleaner and started rotating it in a corner.

Char waited until he was done. "Athletics really. I'm not artistic in any way."

"Oh. Well, what do you like to read? What's your favourite book?"

Char pretended to be concentrating on the sink in their bathroom. In reality he was trying to decide if he should give the answer he wanted to. Finally he decided to do it. "_Contolism_ by Zeon Deykun."

"Wow, that thing? That's a book that played a huge role in my family. My dad and my brother Giren were great friends with Zeon Deykun. Can't say I like his work, myself, but no argument that it's made our culture what it is today."

"Indeed," Char said dryly, more annoyed than he imagined he would be at having his father's work insulted, however vaguely.

The conversation trailed off. Garma started patrolling for anything out of place; dust bunnies, stray hangars, a cake of soap. "What about your family? Who are they and where are they from?"

Char turned on him. "What's with all the fucking questions?"

Garma's eyes went cold. "Look. We're going to be practically handcuffed together for the next nine weeks. If either one of us decides to play it cold and aloof, neither one of us is going to survive. That's one of the points of the exercise here. We learn to work and live together or we don't make it. Maybe I'm getting too intrusive."

"You are."

"Well, I'm sorry. A lot of times I over-compensate for being Prince Garma. People expect me to be cold and snooty and to make them do things for me and I'm always on the spot to prove them wrong. Being interested in other people is part of that."

Char decided to smile. "Okay. I'm kinda sensitive a lot of times because I'm an orphan."

Garma shrugged. "Like I told you the night we arrived, I'm half one."

"GET OUT OF YOUR ROOMS FOR INSPECTION!" a voice bellowed from the hall.

"And it's been lovely, but now we must part," Garma concluded, and they stepped out into the hall.

_Dear Dad,_

_Sorry it's taken so long to write to you. Beast Barracks is almost as bad as Dozel said. Almost. I think he exaggerated a little bit to scare me. I've never been smoked for more than an hour and a half._

Garma paused over his paper after writing that, wondering if it would send his father into a protective tizzy. He decided it'd put a welcome fear into him. Besides, he didn't want to start the letter again, not at three o'clock in the morning as the cadre on duty snoozed in his office.

_It's Sunday night. I'm waiting for the good stuff to start, the real combat-oriented training. Yesterday we got all our equipment issued to us. Today all we did was clean barracks. Actually that's not true; I got to Mass. A lot of people suddenly get religion here because if you go to religious services, you get out of a lot of cleaning, even if you don't get to sleep in all the way till six a.m. _

_I've never been at church and had it been like that, Dad. They let me play keyboard for the hymns. I missed you badly and I cried and cried._

For the second time, he thought about if he wanted to have said that. It was completely true; he'd cried like a bitch whenever his hands weren't on the portable keyboard itself. Being allowed to play an instrument had been like being allowed up for air. He'd ached to play just a fragment of the music that had been pouring itself into his head for the past few days. The sound of marching feet gave him a backbeat that for him was impossible to resist for writing songs.

Ah, it would let his father know he was loved. Garma left it. He glanced over at Char, who was studying a manual on hand-to-hand combat in normal suits. That training was coming up soon.

_Anyway, I'm doing all right. It's hard, but I expected that. Like I said, it's still not as bad as Dozel made it sound. People are still weirded out by my being here, including my battle buddy. I hope things get better, but if not I'll still survive._

_Could you send me about three bars of the soap I get from Bodyworks? I can receive packages of toiletries and that'd be a luxury I'm permitted._

_Write back soon, Dad._

_Love, Garma_

Garma folded the letter up and put it in its envelope. He looked over at Char and found that his battle buddy's eyes were closed. "Char!"

His eyes snapped open. "Oh shit, was I asleep?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks for waking me up."

"No problem. I don't want Dos Santos to take us down to the laundry room and smoke us for two hours because you passed out."

Char lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Guess this is getting to me. Four nights to go, right?"

"I think so. Like I said, sorry about it."

Char smiled tightly. "And like _I_ said, I'll take revenge on you later." He rubbed at his eyes.

"Have some water and talk to me."

"About what?"

"Anything. You said you were athletic. You mentioned being a gymnast, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah, I did." Char thought back to the false biography he'd memorized in the weeks before he came out to Side 3. Much of it was true in order to keep him from becoming confused. He was about to find out if long hours of drilling on the details with Sayla would pay off. "I spent a lot of my growing up years on Earth."

"I could tell. You have an accent."

_Shit. This isn't going to be an easy one to con._ "I'm an orphan; my folks died in a construction accident when they were building Orange Colony."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I was about six and I got over it years ago. I've been raised by relatives here and on Earth."

"Where'd you go to high school?"

"Earth. I bet you had private tutors."

"When I was a little kid, yeah. For high school I went to Mater Dei in Zum City." Garma raised a fist in the air. "Go Monarchs."

"I'm a gymnast, as I said before. I do still rings and pommel horse, which is why I was able to knock out 50 pushups in one minute. Matter of fact," Char grimaced and rubbed and one of his shoulders, "I get worried that PT is going to make me fall out of shape."

"You ever win competitions?"

"No, I'm too introverted to compete." In fact, Édouard Maas had a shelf of trophies back in Lyon. But Édouard Maas was a person unrelated to Char Aznable, Char reminded himself quickly. "We all have to compete in a sport here at the Academy though, so maybe I will here."

"From what I've seen, I'd buy some more shelves if I were you," Garma told him.

"What about you? What'd you pick?"

"Fencing," Garma said. "The Academy doesn't have a stable so I couldn't do equestrian."

"Swords and horses?" Char snorted. "What's with that? Those are some pretty 19th century hobbies."

"Bite me," Garma snarled. "I'm kind of a romantic and they're expensive sports, but I could afford them, I'm good at them, so kiss my ass."

He'd hit some kind of nerve. Char stored that knowledge away for later. Just then, two more cadets showed up to relieve them, so they signed out and returned to their room.

As they changed back into their PTs, Garma looked closely at Char's arms and back. He'd noticed the other cadet was muscular, but he hadn't paid attention to how cut and defined he was and how developed his upper body was. Garma sighed a little bit, envious. He was good at running, biking, staying on a horse; anything that required strength in his legs. Those sports meant that he was also skinny although Giren preferred the term "wiry".

Overall, Char Aznable was a lot better looking than he was. As time went on, cadets were going to start hitting on him left right and centre.

For some reason, that idea bothered Garma, but he was too tired to think much else about it. He was asleep before Char turned off the bathroom light.


	2. Chapter 2

Char and Garma had finished their last night out of their miserable week of guard duty

Char and Garma had finished their last night out of their miserable week of guard duty. It was now early Saturday morning. Even though he longed for sleep, Char was forcing himself to stay up just for a short time so he could write a quick letter in the bathroom light. He didn't want Garma to awaken and ask to whom he was writing.

_I'm done with my first week here at the Academy, and it's been awful. _Since he was writing in French, Char was able to utilize the useful word bête, which literally meant "beast". It carried his meaning far better than anything in English_. I have a room with only one roommate, although we spend almost no time in it. We start our day at 0500 and PT, then we march to a range to learn whatever skill is scheduled for that day. Today we're going to start marksmanship._

_Here's a giant surprise for you. My roommate is none other than Prince Garma Zabi himself. It was completely by accident, since I'm an 'A' and he's a 'Z'. We're both in the Mobile Suit track and all of us students were paired up by chance, not by alphabet. _

Char thought about what to say next. Eventually he decided his perceptions were a normal enough thing to include and went on, _He's not bad, as a roommate. He does his share and is not as high-maintenance as I would have expected. Since we got into trouble our first night here, being on guard duty with him at night has given him many chances to teach me about maintaining my rifle. He has two siblings who have also gone through the Academy._

_Well, I have to get some sleep. I wanted to write and let you know I'm here and I'm alive. I'm not at all enjoying this, but I'm not supposed to and I knew I wouldn't._

_Tell my dear little sister that I'm all right and to be strong._

_Your nephew,_

_Char Aznable_

Char folded up the letter and put it in an envelope. The address he put on the outside was not to his guardian's home in France but to a family in Side 3 who would relay it down to Earth. He hoped the letter would make its way there quickly. It had been very hard to leave Artesia, and it was surprisingly important to let her know he was all right.

Char turned off the light and went into the bedroom. By the light of Side 3's artificial dawn he could see Garma asleep under the covers of his bunk. Garma had tried sleeping on top of the covers for one night but found he got too cold. He'd resigned himself to lifting only one side of the blankets, leaving the other tucked, and to smoothing the blanket under his pillow and dust cover every morning. It was a little more work, but Garma had figured it was worth it to have better quality in what sleep he did get.

"My sister had her own room and they never inspected it," Garma told Char after PT and breakfast the second morning they were there. "Knowing her, the room was probably straighter than the cadre could ever make it, because she's just that way."

"So why didn't you do the same?"

Garma shook his head and picked up his weapon. "I love Kish, but she's not a soldier. She joined the military because she thought it was something she had to do, for reasons that probably make sense only to her. Dad thought she should just go to law school, but she insisted. I decided to take Dozel as my role model instead."

"How about taking Garma as your role model?"

Garma fixed his dark gaze on Char. "Because he's a lefty musician bound for obscurity who had to re-invent himself in order to be viable. Got your magazines?"

Char patted the ammo pouch that contained the empty magazines they were required to carry. "Right here."

"Let's go."

The class was bused to the rifle range. The class sat in rigid silence, which suited Char just fine. He'd only interacted slightly with their classmates, even though he was carefully putting names to faces, knowing that if they were Mobile Suit trainees now, chances were they'd be stationed and working side-by-side after graduation.

"You flirting there, Aznable?" snapped Pevensey. Char lowered his eyes to his lap again.

The rifle range was a rectangular field surrounded by a high wall on three sides. The open side was fronted by a wooden tower about twenty feet high. The cadets were marched past it and the wall on the left hand side of the field to a smaller area that was again walled on three sides. The cadets were lined up alphabetically and sent out in groups of twenty to zero their weapons.

Char walked to his lane, which was marked by a low metal podium with the number 8 engraved on it. He felt strangely vulnerable without the usually ubiquitous Garma. He arranged his sandbags, lay down prone behind them with the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, and waited for the safety NCO to pass him.

"**Are we ready on the left?"** came a voice from the central tower, from which they were to take their commands.

Char saw the safety NCO who stood to his right raise the green side of his paddle.

"**The left is ready. Are we ready on the right? The right is ready. Firers! At this time, rotate your selector switch from 'safe' to 'semi' and fire three perfect shots. Fire away."**

Char's thumb pushed the switch on the side of his rifle upwards and he shifted the butt of the rifle closer to his cheek. He curled his finger around the trigger and squeezed backwards, his eye intent on the man-shaped target on the opposite wall. He shifted slightly again and fired a second, then a third time.

"**Cease fire, cease fire. Firers, at this time put your weapons on 'safe' and back away from your weapons."**

Char did so, hopped to his feet, and withdrew behind a line painted on the ground. As he watched, a red light came on over the distant target. He groaned to himself. He hadn't zeroed, which would have required putting three shots close together in the same spot on the target. As he watched, the printer built into the metal podium spit out a copy of where his shots had pierced into the target. One was in the head, a second in the torso, the third far over to the right.

"**Positions 1, 3, 4, 6, 9, 10, 11, 15, 18 and 20, you have successfully zeroed. Take the printout of your target, collect your weapon, and proceed to the center lane to be rodded off the range."**

The safety NCO came over to take a look at Char's target. "Watch your trigger squeeze and your breathing," he said to Char. "You're pulling way too hard on the trigger."

Char tried again without success. "Breathing," he was told. "Trigger squeeze," the next. "Are you applying any of the principles we taught you?" he was asked on his fourth attempt.

On the fifth, he saw Garma come onto the range. At "cease fire" he watched as Garma collected his printout and his weapon and leave the range while Char stayed there for a sixth attempt.

For the seventh, a cadet named Gerald was allowed to join him, "They want the ones who zeroed on the first try to coach the others," he explained. "Okay, just relax at first. Exhale, then squeeze the trigger. Use just the pad of your index finger. Don't jerk. You know, like they taught us."

Gerald turned out to be what Char needed and he zeroed on the next attempt. Relieved but embarrassed, he took his printout and left the range, sparing a pitying glance at the cadets still standing there. He was strangely thankful that Garma had not been assigned as his coach.

That night they were all allowed to sit in the grassy courtyard that was usually forbidden to them, cleaning their weapons. Garma sat beside Char, but Char couldn't bring himself to speak to him.

"Okay, enough. What the hell did I do?" Garma snarled to him the next evening when they had returned from the practice range. Char had done marginally better that day, but Garma had once again spent what seemed like five minutes on the range total.

"What makes you think you did anything?"

"Youíve barely said a word to me since breakfast yesterday."

Char turned towards his locker and began undressing for his shower. "I got news my dog died."

"Do you think I'm stupid? You haven't gotten a single piece of mail since you arrived here."

Char stopped with his hands on his belt buckle. The kid was watching him. He was paying attention to what happened in his life. Suddenly, he became very afraid.

"Don't stalk me, Zabi," he muttered as he stripped bare and grabbed his towels and toiletries.

In the bathroom, Char turned on the hot water in the stall and stood for several minutes, letting it pour over him. Since he and his sister had gone to Earth with Jinba Ral, his life had been a delicate balancing act between hiding in plain sight and remaining unknown. Édouard Maas had been the champion gymnast who had no close friends, the prominent student who never attended school events, keeping his high profile only in the fields of athletics and high grades. His relationships with females were limited to afternoon trysts with married women because he could be sure none of them would ever talk to anyone else about him. Many people knew the face and name of Édouard Maas, but he was very good at keeping them distant and relatively disinterested.

Now he was in a situation where there was someone who by necessity had to be close to him and who was apparently very interested.

It would be so easy to hate Garma Zabi. Being close to his family seemed to come effortlessly to him, and that closeness was something Char envied. His sister was the only family Char had had consistently, and she was gone until some indefinite point in the future. Édouard Maas, the popular yet friendless student, was only close to his family through death. Being a tool of revenge for his father was intimate indeed, though hardly something for the family Christmas letter.

He needed to keep Garma close, but he didn't want it to be by letting Garma "adopt" him. He would not do it by being a Zabi charity case. When he'd found himself paired up as Garma's roommate, he'd at first been unable to believe his luck. This was not working out, as he found himself on the defensive. To be on the offensive, he'd need to prove himself better than Garma. The boy was prone to hero-worshipping people, and Char knew he had to be one of those heroes in order to get the dynamic just right.

Over the next few days, it became apparent that the rifle range was not going to be where he succeeded in doing it. Garma qualified right away and Char got to watch him collect his marksmanship badge and head back to the dorms to clean his rifle and have some personal time. It took Char eight tries to qualify.

"I knew you'd do it," Garma told him soothingly when Char returned. Char just scowled.

"Glad it's over with," he told Garma.

"Zero-gee combatives is next," Garma reminded him. "You lived on Earth, you think you're going to have any problems there?

_Yeah, you'd like that,_ Char thought to himself. "I don't know. It's something I probably have a good shot at because my sport's gymnastics."

"Really? What kind?"

"Parallel bars and horse," Char said.

"Ever done the rings?"

"More raw power than I can wring out of my body for long. What's ironic is that even with PT every morning, I'm starting to get out of shape. Sure, my cardio's getting a lot better, but for gymnastics I have to work out with weights and that's not happening. I'm going to have to get my upper body strength back up before I start with the team in the fall."

"What with me being a fencer, the PT doesn't hurt my physical condition at all. It's not physical strength, just speed, agility and just a bit of psychology."

"Sounds like my kind of sport," Char said with a grin.

"Let's try it out when we come back in the fall," Garma said.

"You're on."

_Dear Dozel:_

_So the rifle range is now behind me. That was a piece of cake. It was weird going on and off the range in one go andwatching some of my classmates come trailing in hours and hours later. _

_Today we did the confidence course. That was fun in a scary sort of way. If you'd told me a couple of months ago I could do an obstacle course with dark underground tunnels, twenty-foot cargo nets, etc., at a dead sprint for a mile, I never would have believed you. People never believe me when I tell them you and I are full brothers, but I see that maybe we have more in common than I thought._

_Anti-grav combatives next, culminating in our "big game at the end of the season". Three more weeks here. I can't wait to see you, and yes, I do want you to be the one to pick me up. Dad dropped me off, so I was expecting one of his cars to come get me, but if you can do it I'd actually like that better. I have so much to tell you._

_Garma_

Garma slipped the letter into an envelope and looked across the room at Char, who was sewing a button back onto his uniform jacket. For Garma, the confidence course had been a challenge during which he'd had to use his speed and agility to compensate for his lack of overall strength. He and Char had actually managed to finish within moments of each other because while Char wasn't as fast a runner as Garma, he had gone through the monkey bars, simulated open windows and other such obstacles without any visible effort.

Not surprising at all. Garma looked down at his own thin arms and then enviously at Char's well-defined musculature. He knew everyone had strengths and weaknesses, but he liked Char's strengths better than his own.

Char finished sewing on the button and raised his eyes to meet Garma's. "What're you staring at?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Ah, nothing. I was just telling my brother Dozel about confidence course. You kicked that thing's ass. Honestly, I was wishing I had your kind of physical strength."

"Just need to build up to it, my friend. I wasn't born this way, I owe it to gymnastics. Besides, we finished at pretty much the same time, so there's nothing for you to beat yourself up over. Which reminds me, I've got that bet against Van Kamper that I can do more pushups than him."

"Craziest bet I've ever heard," Garma said. "You have to shave your head or he has to shave his back. I don't know which is more repulsive."

Char ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. "Definitely the former. Keep count for me would you? This thing goes down Sunday afternoon."

If Char had been waiting to see the chink in Garma's armour, combatives were definitely it.

They didn't start in zero-gee. They started in the gymnasium, wearing combat uniforms, bare feet and no metal. Char wasn't a wrestler, but when they paired him against a stocky Asian cadet who was his height, if not build, he found that his previous athletic skills served him perfectly well.

The other cadet, whose name was Ma, grabbed hold of Char's uniform jacket and immediately dropped to the mat, intending to take Char with him. Char obliged, then rolled to the side, grabbing Ma's wrists and pulling them apart as he kicked one of Ma's lower legs upward. With his opponent unbalanced, he was able to roll Ma back onto the mat where Char wrapped his arms around his head and kept it there until the cadre called a halt to their match.

Char stood up just in time to see Garma being rolled into a small package by a girl who matched him in height and weight. Garma rose, looking chastened, though he gamely shook her hand.

"I think I'll do better in zero gee," he told Char.

_Dear Dozel:_

_Today was grenades day. It was another depressing event in a depressing week. We did unarmed combatives yesterday and I was soundly beaten by a girl. If it weren't for the fact that I'm in the mobile suit corps, and I know from experience that I can fly a Zaku, I'd be very seriously considering leaving the Academy. If brute strength and physical ability is what it takes to be a good soldier, I don't have it. My roommate has more of what it takes, I think. He's a gymnast so he's got lots of raw power, agility and grace. Me, I'm little, light and clumsy. I have to remind myself that this isn't the whole military experience. _

_I'm hoping I do better in zero gee where my size and strength isn't a factor._

_I know you're not much of a writer, but write back anyway. Please?_

_Garma_

Garma regained a little bit of face the next day when he found Char puzzling over the connections on his normal suit.

"You're having a problem with that?" Garma asked. Not knowing how to put on a normal suit in the Colonies was like not knowing how to open an umbrella, as far as he was concerned.

"It's been--a while," Char confessed. "Remember, I didn't grow up here and we took all our vacations in Europe, where I grew up." He stood while Garma connected his harness, reciting what hooked to what and why. It was a bizarre feeling. No one had dressed Char since he was a small child.

The arena where they were to do the exercise was essentially a cage built onto the side of the colony, about the size of a football field. The cadre formed them up in the airlock and had them function-check their suits. Content that no one was going to die in the vacuum, Pevensy ordered them to do a left-face and opened the inner door.

Char felt himself tense as they drifted rank by rank into the open area. Yes, he'd spent his first ten years on a Side, but he'd never once been in zero gee like this, with so much space around him. The huge cage was built of girders with rails that looked a couple of inches wide forming a wide mesh that was just tight enough to keep someone from floating out. They could still clearly see the stars and another colony cylinder in the distance.

He floated out into this three-dimensional corral, not liking the sensation at all. Char had thought that perhaps it would be like being under water, but being under water had its own pressures which zero-gee did not.

Garma reached out and grasped his hand to initiate skin-talk. "You okay, battle?"

"This is different. You seem happy enough."

"I love being in space. You'll get used to it." He rolled onto his back, using the jets on his back to propel himself up towards their team area.

"Control," Char muttered to himself and increased the force out of his jetpack. He arched his back and found himself heading in the same direction that Garma had taken. He noticed a second or two later that he was starting to curve backwards so he tipped his upper body forward to compensate. It worked, and he realized that this was a fairly simple exercise in using his body mass and the jets in combination to control where he was going. He reached the platform where their team was, landing foot-first with the magnets in his boots sticking him to the surface.

After he had handed out blue armbands to differentiate the team from the red team across the cage, a cadre member named Johnston motioned for them to stand in a circle and switch to the frequency that was assigned to their team. "Being out in zero gee changes everything in combatives," he said. "It's the great equalizer. Somebody her size," he pulled a five-foot female cadet out of the group, "can take on someone his size." He pushed forward a big Swede. "Our goal today is to capture the flag on the other side of the range." He pointed to a red banner on a pole behind the platform facing them across the cage. "How this gets done is up to you. The first and only rule is safety. Let's go."

The team huddled and Char said, "Okay first, let's set up a perimeter around our flag."

"How many guys?" someone asked.

"I was thinking six. That's one on each side, one above, one below."

"Let's send out our strongest guys to get the flag itself," another cadet put in. "We—"

"Wait, strength doesn't have anything to do with it," the small female cadet said. "Who's best when it comes to moving in space?"

"Not me," said Char. "I'll guard the platform."

"I am, I worked in the commercial dockyards all through high school," said Ma.

"I'll do it too," said Garma. "Same kind of reason."

So it was settled, with six cadets guarding the platform and the remaining seven going after the flag. On a signal from the cadre, Garma and the six cadets who were trying to capture the flag went into action. Garma found the circumstances distracting; he loved being out in space and here he was free to move without inhibitions with the stars all around him. He didn't want to rush forward, slamming into other cadets and using momentum to tangle them up and send them spinning. He wanted to float amidst the music of the spheres, which was impossible as Cadet Washington used tiny Cadet Rodriguez as a missile, using the combined force of shoving her towards him as she accelerated her jets. Garma caught her full-force across the torso, noticing that she seemed quite pleased to find herself making impact with him.

While this temporarily stopped Garma from advancing to the other side, it also meant that Rodriguez couldn't either. They disentangled, but Garma was already trailing far behind his teammates. He took advantage of this to look behind him. Four of the opposing team had already reached their platform, but Char was holding his own. Garma turned back to the goal, flying in as one of his teammates seized the flag, lifting it up from its loose magnetized moorings and sailing upwards into a scrum of red-team cadets. Garma joined the blue-team cadets in jumping on them, loosening grips and throwing them off-course. After that it was chaotic, a contest to again grab each others' limbs in order to keep each other spinning or flying in entirely the wrong direction. Garma thought of bumper cars, although that parallel gave way to one of running on a treadmill as he found another cadet flying backwards, his jetpack switched off somehow, under his feet.

"Endex, Endex," came the word through his helmet earphones. "Blue team, you got it."

They were given a chance to eat what were affectionately still called "astronaut meals" in a classroom adjacent to the arena.

Sunday morning arrived. Garma headed off to church as usual, marching in formation after an early breakfast with a large platoon of other Catholic cadets. Some of whom had only found religious fervour in their first weekend in training, after discovering that the alternative to getting up early for church was doing barracks maintenance all morning.

Garma had always attended with his father somewhat unthinkingly. Now he found the thought that he and his father would both be at church even while they were separated very comforting. Also comforting was being able to have his hands on a piano, even if it was just for that one hour.

He returned to find Char in his PT uniform of olive-green t-shirt and black shorts, mopping the hall. "The price I pay for being a heathen," Char said.

"Let me do that. You've got that pushup contest in a few."

"I'll wait for you to get changed."

Garma went into their room and removed his grey uniform, replacing it with PTs. For some reason, he was unreasonably anxious about this bet of Char's. It was a silly thing, and he knew he should feel indifferent or amused, but he didn't like the idea of Char losing and having his head shaved at all. He returned to the hallway and took the mop from Char with orders for him to go back to their room, take ibuprofen and stretch.

The time set for the contest was 1600. In the tedious atmosphere of basic training anything remotely novel was eagerly anticipated, so the courtyard was already full of cadets who were filling their time with repairing uniforms or writing letters. There was scattered applause as Char and Garma came into the courtyard, which Char met with a cheerful wave of his hand. The crowd formed a rough circle and Cadet Washington, a thickly-built black man with a famously deep voice, took the role of ring announcer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the first and let's be honest, probably only Mobile Suit Training Platoon pushup competition. In this corner, or side of the opening of the crowd, what have you, is the pride of barracks room 304A, Brandon Van Kamper!"

Van Kamper was two meters tall with the lean build of a basketball player. His forearms and legs were covered with long straight brown hair. His fans applauded with one exclamation of "That's MY battle buddy!"

"And in this part of this large cluster, the golden boy, the silent and deadly Char Aznable!"

Garma looked at who was supporting Char. Unlike Van Kamper's crowd, his was predominantly female. Garma frowned. The giggling and bouncing in excitement got on his nerves immediately.

"All right, gentlemen, I'm going to give you a three-count," Washington said as two other cadets lay down the thin foam mats that they used for PT. "On one, get on your hands and knees. On two, assume the front leaning rest. On three, start pushing. Cadets Zabi and Reynolds will count for Aznable, Akiode and Tyler will count for Van Kamper. One."

Char and Van Kamper got on hands and knees, side by side.

"Two."

They snapped up into front leaning rest.

"Three."

The two men started pumping out pushups. There was an immediate outcry because Van Kamper was sagging in the middle and his counters kept repeating "Five...Five...Five..." until he corrected it. In the meantime, Char was moving up and down smoothly, seven pushups ahead of Van Kamper.

Garma kept counting, wanting for Char to win but resolute that he would count fairly. Reynolds was there to validate his count, and they reached thirty in unison, then forty.

Char started to slow at forty-five. At fifty-six he arched his back in the approved rest position for a moment untilVan Kamper was within two pushups, then resumed at a slower pace. He paused for a second at sixty-five, but so did Van Kamper.

After that, the pushups were very slow and very deliberate. The crowd counted along with the four cadets who were officially doing so. "Somebody's gonna lose hair!" someone said out loud.

"Not me," Char whispered between clenched teeth. Garma could see sweat beading on his forehead and dropping to the mat, but Char did not stop. He was over seventy now, each pushup taking several seconds.

Seventy-five, seventy-six...Van Kamper was at seventy-three when suddenly he gasped, "Oh shit," and fell forward onto his chest. There was cheering from the pro-Char faction, with more bouncing and hugging from the female cadets.

Char got to his knees, shaking his arms out. "All right then! Off with that shirt!"

Van Kamper's back was indeed notably hairy. Two cadets came forward with shaving cream and a disposable razor. One sprayed the foam onto his back and covered the area with it. Garma turned back to Char as the first swipe of the razor left a stripe of pale exposed skin.

"I should introduce you to my brother when my family comes to pick me up," one girl was saying, "He's enlisted, but he did the most pushups in his basic training platoon."

"That'd be really interesting," Char said in a tone that suggested he was anything but interested. Garma felt smug and that night in their room his heart leaped in his chest when Char asked, "I wouldn't usually ask you to do this, but could you get this analgesic cream on my back? I did my biceps and triceps and that's where I can't reach."

Garma took the tube from him and smeared cream across Char's back muscles. He had a beautifully sculpted upper torso from the gymnastics. His skin was pale without pink undertone. His body was a pleasure to look upon--and Garma suddenly felt a twinge of arousal.

He put the tube down hastily and retreated to his side of the room. "There you go. Take more ibuprofen. Tomorrow's PT is running. You'll be fine."

Char allowed himself a brief smirk as Garma busied himself with tidying up something. So. Not only did Garma lack confidence in his own considerable abilities, he now apparently had a crush on him. Excellent.

Garma, on the other hand, was rapidly putting pieces together in his head. Not only was he now admiring Char's abilities, he was lusting mildy after him and getting jealous at female attention towards him.

This was difficult because first, he had to live with this man. Second, while Garma's brother Saslo had been gay and Garma had never had any problems with that, Degin had. He avoided Char's gaze for the rest of the evening.

"Okay, now that you shitbirds know how to move in team formations in space, we're gonna learn how to do it on land."

The cadets stood in a large circle around Cadre Pevensy as he knelt in the dirt. They were in the clearing of one of Side 3's small forests, surrounded by pine trees and the occasional deciduous growth. They had marched five miles in formation to reach the area and some of the cadets were shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Char himself was leaning on the outside of his right foot, his boot having rubbed a nasty blister onto his right big toe. He'd have Garma bandage it when they got back, after he'd showered. He'd come to enjoy the discomfort it caused the boy whenever Garma had to deal with Char's nudity or touching Char in any way.

" So we've got enough people for two squads here." He counted off ten and ten and began to assign them positions. "You, team leader. Automatic rifle, grenade, squad leader, team leader, grenade, commo. The rest of you are semiautos. Now, look down here and I'll show you how to move."

Char was team leader. Garma was commo, which meant, rather sadistically, that the wispy Zabi prince not only had to carry his rifle but a communications backpack that weighed 1/6 what he did. They spent the day stumbling forward through the woods, dropping for cover behind fallen logs, small birms, and anything else they could find. None of them were pleased to hear that this would be part of the six-day exercise that would be their final exam at the end of their time in Beast Barracks.

"Once again, that sucked," Garma said as they were downstairs outside, cleaning their weapons. All of them had become notably dirty during their day in the woods.

"Why are we doing that anyway?" Char asked as he dismantled his bolt carrier. "We're mobile suit corps. We fight in space. The zero gee combatives make sense. We're going to be in space, we're combat arms, and it's easy to see where we might find ourselves outside our ships and having to take on the enemy face to face, mano-a-mano as they say. But in the woods? What kind of shit is that? When are we supposed to fight in the flipping trees? Even if the enemy reaches Side 3, we've got Home Guard to take them on inside the colony."

Garma said nothing, preferring instead to concentrate on the cleanliness of his trigger mechanism.

Char frowned. Garma was usually quick with his answers, proud as he was to have inside information from his brother Dozel or his father the sovereign. Furthermore, if he didn't know he would normally say that. Garma was being quiet because he didn't want to lie.

"You know something you're not telling me," Char said.

"I don't _know_ anything."

"You suspect something then." Char lowered his voice and leaned towards Garma. "We're in this together, battle. If I'm going into harm's way somewhere, I want to know about it in advance. Don't hold out on me."

Garma remained silent. He looked up the barrel of his weapon and attached a swath of gauze to the cleaning rod.

"Garma!"

Garma glared at him. "Use your imagination. Where might we end up fighting in the woods? Guess."

Char thought about it. "Ah. I see."

"Just a strong possibility," Garma said. "Like I told you before, I don't know anything for sure or certain."

This was a possibility that caused Char to once again lie awake at night, listening to Garma's occasional soft snore.

This changed a lot of things. Char Aznable had come to the Academy to see if he'd be able to get close enough to the Zabis for assassination. This he'd achieved. He'd counted on some minor skirmishes with the Federation in the course of whatever years he spent in the Zeon military. He hadn't planned to make a career of being an officer. It was intended to merely be a stepping stone to removing the Zabis and re-instating the republic his father had instituted.

All these plans could have to be postponed if the Zeon government intended to directly attack Earth.

There were ten days left in Beast Barracks. Six would be spent on their last training exercise. Three would be for cleaning equipment and packing it away for incoming cadets in the next year. One would be outprocessing to go home for four weeks before returning for the Fall academic semester.

0400 hours on the Monday found the cadets being bused to an obscure corner of the Academy grounds. On arrival, they formed up into the same ten-person formations in which they'd done their early practice in the woods. They were in battle dress, weighted down with vests containing sensor equipment, helmets, rucksacks and of course their rifles. The goal was to move in formation ten miles to a site where a short-distance spacecraft was waiting to take them to the next phase of the exercise.

Years later, Char would only remember certain highlights. The advance was slow; the ten miles ended up taking a good six hours because at random moments they had tear gas grenades thrown at them from the brush and they had to grab their gas masks as they hit the dirt and formed a perimeter. At one very surrealistic moment, they found themselves lying in the prone position, their rifles supported on their backpacks, facing the woods as a class of more senior cadets had their morning PT run down the road beside which they were lying.

By the time they did reach the port in which the craft was waiting, it was clear even the cadre were tired. Garma's arms were trembling from holding his rifle at the low-ready position for six hours and his shoulders and back felt raw from carrying his ruck. He thought the rectangular port, built into a mountain against the wall of the colony cylinder, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

They came out from the woods to a clearing around the port. The weary cadets started walking towards it—and suddenly a mob of people in civilian clothes exploded out of the woods on either side of the port.

"Get down!" shouted Ma, who was squad leader. Char and Garma both raced for the treeline, although after ten miles their "race" was slow indeed. Garma knew that he himself felt as if he were moving through tar, his whole body felt so heavy. He spotted a tree that looked wide enough to conceal him, but suddenly a siren went off from the sensor gear he was wearing, indicating that he'd been hit by an enemy "bullet". Knowing he wasn't supposed to take any action after that because he was "dead", he seated himself behind the tree and waited.

When the simulated attack ended, Cadre Pevensy came past him. "Get up, you. Get in the truck with the other casualties."

Garma got up and went to the open-bed truck that was by the side of the clearing. It took him and a rough half-dozen other cadets to a cinderblock building not far in the woods where they were locked in and spent the night sitting on the concrete floor with the lights on and a talk-radio station playing at high volume.

He was fascinated to discover that it was actually possible to nap, for a short time at least, with his arms wrapped around his knees, back against the wall. His skinny tailbone felt it in the morning, but the rest of his body hurt just as much.

As one of the survivors, Char was charged with defending the craft until the next morning. Bereft of his usual battle buddy, he paired up with Ma, who had also lost his. They took up a position behind a rocky outcropping of the mountain and spent the night taking turns watching for the frequent attacks that occurred throughout the hours of darkness. As Char lay propped again on his ruck, feeling dampness seep from the ground through his trousers, he thought to himself he'd never felt so bored or so abandoned.

As the morning light brightened, he heard one of their cadre announce, "It's a miracle! The dead have been raised!"

He and Ma looked down from their position to see the "dead" cadets jump stiffly off the truck. The "living" cadets were told to join them. They were allowed onto the craft, which finally took off towards an undisclosed destination.

They were given an hour of peace to eat a breakfast of field rations. The keynote of the morning was that everyone wished for a chance to change underwear.

The five days blended together. They landed on a simulated colony. They were attacked getting off the shuttle, but this time they expected it and neither Char nor Garma "died". On the colony they did more zero-gee combat of the type they had done in the cage that first time.

They were attacked during sleep times. They were attacked during meals. They were attacked while fighting each other. It seemed like the exercise would never end, but during the fifth torturous night of simulated combat it did, culminating in a five-mile march from the port back to the Academy grounds, where they were ordered to form up in front of their building.

The scene was unsettling. There were three officers standing at a podium that hadn't been there before. Floodlights were focused onto the lawn, causing them to blink painfully.

"Ground your gear," they were told.

They dropped their rucks onto the ground, by the right foot of each cadet, top of the rucksack pointing towards the podium.

"Company, atten-tion!"

They came to attention, although sluggishly.

"Congratulations, cadets!" said one of the officers, a captain they'd only seen peripherally during training. "You have now finished the first phase of training. None of you failed in the task set before you. We're proud of you; be proud of yourselves. Now, here to give you each your first-phase completion badge is a man who I know wishes could re-live the past weeks that probably had all of you wanting to curl up and die. Cadets, I give you His Royal Highness Admiral Dozel Zabi."

Char turned his head ever so slightly to look at Garma. The other cadet's expression was one of overwhelming exhaustion with no other reaction to the sight of his brother.

The podium only came up to Dozel Zabi's waist. He tried to pull the microphone up to his level, realized the stand only extended so far, and ended up removing the microphone and holding it in his hand. "At ease. Good morning! How is everyone feeling this morning?"

There was a scattered collection of "Oooahs" from the formation, some stronger, some weaker.

"It's been a long six days, I know. I remember, because it was only eight years ago that I was standing where you were now, wondering who the hell was this officer giving them a speech and would she please just make it quick so I could get back to my room and wash my itchy a—I mean backside. But I ask you to bear with me. This may not seem important to you now, certainly not as important as a shower and finally gettting some shut-eye. It is, though, so I want you to look right now to the cadets to the left and to the right of you."

Char had Garma to his left and a cadet who wasn't in their squad to his right.

"These are your comrades, on whom you'll be relying for at least your time at the Academy. Perhaps they'll go with you to your permanent duty stations after graduation, perhaps not. You all have just gone through the same type of ordeal that soldiers have endured during their training for centuries. We've gone from muskets and bayonets in the forest to high-powered rifles meant for use in space, but it's the same kind of initiation, a crucible of weariness, pain, and filth shared with one's fellow comrades. It's something you have to go through to understand what it does to you, and you are connected now by this shared initiation. This connection between each other is something no civilian can understand. It sets you apart as protectors of the people. All the torture you've gone through this summer has been necessary to discover if you are fit to protect the citizens of Zeon. You have been tested and now you can know as a fact that you have what it takes. Give yourself a big hand."

The cadets clapped for a few minutes.

"I'm now going to hand out your first-phase badges. Congratulations, cadets. You've earned your rest, and we look forward to you doing great things in the next four years."

He replaced the microphone and began to go past each rank of cadets, giving out the ribbon and shaking each cadet's hand.

When he came to Char, Char was overwhelmed by the immense size of the man. He'd always heard that the legendary Dozel was enormous, but since that had come from little Garma he'd taken it as an exaggeration. No, Dozel Zabi was as large as he'd heard, towering a solid foot above Char. His hand completely surrounded Char's when they shook. He was huge and scarred and intimidating even though there was nothing but friendliness in his gestures.

Char wondered how he'd greet Garma, but Dozel was very professional, giving him his badge and shaking his hand as he did with all the other cadets.

Finally they were dismissed and allowed to drag themselves up to their rooms. Char put his ruck down and said, "I never thought those six days would end. Dibs on the shower."

"Fine, I've got to get my boots off." Garma dropped onto his chair and started undoing the laces. His feet were marked with the imprints of his socks and sticky with six days' worth of foot powder and sweat. "I don't even smell human. I smell like some kind of rough beast."

"Cadet Zabi!" bellowed a voice as the door slammed open.

"Doz—I mean, Admiral Zabi!" Garma snapped to attention and winced as he landed on his sore feet. Char did the same, glad he hadn't started to undress yet.

"Get your gear, little brother. I'm taking you home."

"But Dozel, I still have three more days."

"You've completed your training and collected your badge. Dad wants you home."

"My gear—"

"Somebody else can clean it and turn it in."

"That's not fair, Dozel."

The older Zabi was resolute. "Dad wants you back."

Char shrugged. "I don't mind cleaning your gear."

"No, Char—"

"I get the room to myself for a couple of days. I think it's a great trade-off."

Garma sighed. "If you're sure."

"Hey, the sovereign himself is commanding your presence."

Garma looked up at his brother. "Should I change?"

"Just put your boots back on and get your stuff. You probably want your own shower anyway. I'll help you."

Char watched with amusement as the two brothers packed Garma's duffle. Dozel was a veritable mother hen, tutting over how Garma folded or rolled his uniforms and showing him how best to fit everything into the bag.

Garma came over to Char when they were finished and extended his hand. It was grimy, the nails black with dirt. "Cadet Aznable, it's been a pleasure."

Char shook his hand. "Cadet Zabi, likewise. I'll see you in September."

"I've got your e-mail. I'll write."

"Sure, but we'll be back together soon enough."

Garma hiked his duffle onto his aching shoulders and followed Dozel out the door. He glanced back into the room at Char as he did. Their eyes met and Char smiled. That was the permission Garma needed, and he felt much lighter as he trudged down the hall.

On Garma's first morning of freedom, he slept late, until 7 a.m. That this was "late" amused him greatly. About three hours later he set out on his bike for the part of town called Riverside. This meant cycling to the monorail, riding about half the length of the colony, then getting off and riding through the tree-lined streets towards his destination.

Riverside had a reputation as being a bohemian part of town. The area was expensive, full of handcrafted furniture stores, bookshops, curio sellers, art galleries, and cafes. Garma noted a cafe/bookstore for later, then pulled his bike up in front of the Singh Out Loud art gallery. He locked it to a parking meter, then inhaled deeply and went inside.

The interior was typical, with laminate wood flooring, white walls, and track lighting. The exhibit looked interesting; fantasy animals, birds, and insects in bright neon colours. Garma looked at one of them despite his errand, trying to figure if they were made of ceramic or papier-mâché or both. He looked at the accompanying plaque; the art style was called 'alebrije' and came from Mexico.

"Delightful, aren't they?" the owner of the gallery asked as he stepped from the back. "I was very lucky to--GARMA!"

Garma stood, knowing he had to look about 12 in his oversized button-down shirt and jeans. "Hello, John. Long time no see."

John Leonard Singh hugged the teenager who had once been his brother-in-law. "You look amazing. What's been going on with you and what brings you here?"

"You look well yourself." John was in a comfortable-looking set of khakis with a tweed jacket. His short brown hair was only slightly touched with grey and his large brown eyes seemed to have recovered their happy expression over the years.

"I'm in the Academy now. That's kind of what brings me here."

"Sounds like you came here for advice."

"I know, and it's lame of me after not being around all these years. I apologize."

"Let me put the sign up." John picked up a "Back at" sign and set the clock on it for half an hour ahead. He locked the door and they went to the kitchen in the back. He made tea as Garma perched on one of the barstools by the counter.

"It's all right that you haven't been around," John said as he plugged in the kettle. "I got all the cards you sent over the years, but I did need some space away from your family. It's not easy separating from you Zabis. The press were after me for at least a year after Saslo was killed." He held out his left hand. "I've remarried. His name is Brian, heís an orthodontist and ceramic artist."

"I'm glad. I mean, Saslo was really special and all, but I wouldn't have wanted you to be alone all these years."

John poured boiling water into mugs. "So what's on your mind, little brother?"

Garma took a mug. "I think I'm in love with a guy. I've never had any gay thoughts before now, so I'm kind of wondering what's going on."

"It's easy for an otherwise straight man to get feelings for another in an all-male environment."

"It's not an all-male environment. There are female cadets all over the place."

"And I'm sure it's not as if none of them are interested."

"You got that right." Garma reached into his pocket for a photo. "This is us together. His name's Char. He's another mobile suit pilot, he's my roommate and battle buddy. That means we're always together, two by two."

"Sounds romantic."

"It's not just that though. He talks to me honestly, John. He tells it like it is. We're from pretty different backgrounds; he was raised in a foster home so he's really independent and I was raised by my dad, who has to protect me and control everything. That just means I never get tired of listening to him when he talks, which is less than I do. Plus he's just the kind of guy I wish I could be. I already said he's independent, but he's also smart and tough and nothing ever seems to get to him. I'll get back to our room after a really hard day and cry, but he just takes a shower and shrugs it off."

John leaned against the counter. "Usually when a person falls in love, they know it. Sounds like you admire this guy, but to play Devil's Advocate, what makes you think it's love, or even a crush?"

Garma sighed. "Yeah, thatís the personal stuff. I realized it when I found myself looking at a calendar and thinking at least we have three more years of the Academy together and that after that, I don't know what I can do. That and I noticed I like looking at him after he gets out of the shower." His cheeks felt hot and he knew he was blushing.

"Those are pretty good indicators."

"Heís absolutely gorgeous, John. I've never been so turned on by another person before."

John shrugged. "Well, sounds like you've made up your own mind already."

Garma considered. "Yeah. I guess I have, haven't I?"

"Sometimes a person has to say it to another person for it to sink in."

Garma nodded. "Well, I have some time to think about where I'll take this thing. Thanks, John."

"Any time. Family is family, you know?"

Garma nodded again. "Now, can you show me your exhibit? I've never seen anything like them."

...To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

Garma sat at the desk in his bedroom in the royal residence, staring down at the open blue notebook in front of him. Degin Zabi encouraged all his offspring to keep journals, deeply aware as he was that they had made Spacenoid history by being the first monarchy in space. Garma knew that Giren kept a lengthy online journal, although Garma had never read any of it, and in his opinion if Giren thought it was important enough to do, it probably was.

The entries between the morning he left for the Academy and his return home were largely reconstructed from the letters he'd sent his father, with his own later thoughts interspersed. He hadn't brought his journal to the Academy and he didn't plan to this semester either. Whether he would or not for the winter semester would depend on how safe he felt in his privacy.

So this afternoon found him at his desk, wearing his grey uniform with the jacket removed and hanging over a chair. He tapped his pen against the paper, thinking about his last entry before leaving once again.

Finally, bearing firmly in mind that this was for posterity, he picked up the pen and started writing.

_August 31, 0077_

_It's been a great vacation, especially after the horror of summer semester. It's been great being with Dad, the family, and especially my music. I thought to check this time, and no, I still can't have my guitar with me in the dorms. Beginning with second year I can so I have to resign myself to another three and a half months without playing music daily. _

He paused, looking crushed. He had spent the evening before with music as if it were his spouse, playing his guitar and piano for hours. Degin rarely came to his rooms, but he'd asked to come over and had sat on the couch in Garma's small living room, listening to him play.

_For all I've enjoyed being back with the things and the people I love, I'm also looking forward to being with my platoon-mates. I'm pretty sure that I'll have Char again as a battle buddy. Dozel said that he lived with his until senior year when they finally got their own rooms. Being home with the beloved and familiar has made me miss him daily. He was curious about my music; I wished I could see him at one of my band's shows. We talked about what it meant to be a Spacenoid and the philosophy of Zeon Deykun; I wished he could meet Giren who actually knew the man. We've been sending each other e-mail, but it hasn't been all that frequent because I gather he's as busy as I am._

_It's going to suck being back in the DFAC this evening for dinner, but I'm still glad to be doing it. Not only to see Char but because this is the first academic semester and I've been looking forward to that. More to follow._

He closed the book, locked it in the top drawer of his desk and picked up his jacket.

In contrast, Char Aznable had no ambiguity about returning as he rode the Academy bus from the shuttle terminal at Zum City. He was impatient to return out of sheer boredom. Entrenched in his alter ego as he was, Char Aznable had no real relatives or friends on Side 3, so he'd been staying with the same family of Contolist sympathizers that relayed his letters back to France. He'd spent the break making sure not to attract any attention to himself and avoiding any areas or events he knew Garma Zabi frequented or might frequent. The family lived in a simple middle-class part of the city, and he restricted himself to that location, reading, going to the cinema at a nearby mall and working out at the gym there. The family revered him perhaps too much as the son of Zeon Deykun and remained deferentially polite, never daring to have a conversation with his august self.

Char would normally begin to say that that suited him just fine, except that this time, it didn't. He wanted to talk to someone and share experiences, no matter how banal.

He surprised himself by looking forward to seeing Garma Zabi.

While Char took the bus by himself, Garma once again rode in one of the family limos, accompanied this time by his father alone.

"Is going back going to be as difficult a time as you had when you first arrived?" Degin Zabi asked. He was trying to sound conversational, but Garma could hear the tension and dread in his voice.

"I asked Dozel. He said yes. Don't worry, Dad, I'm tough and it's all a mindgame. I'm not looking forward to this evening, but it's nothing to stress yourself over."

The old man's brow furrowed. "Forgive me for experiencing distress at the idea of my beloved youngest child subjecting himself to torture."

Garma looked out the window for a moment. "It's all right, Dad, really. I survived my hellish first week once, and this'll probably just be a hellish night. After that it'll get boring. I'm looking forward to school, though, so it'll be all right. Hey, Dozel made it."

"Dozel was already 6'6 and 300 lbs. I never had fears for Dozel."

The limo turned down the exit for ZeFA and Garma felt the same apprehension he'd felt the first time he saw that road sign. No, tonight wouldn't be pretty, but it would end and school would start, and he'd see Char.

This time they weren't met by any ZeFA brass. Garma and Degin were just another student and his parent saying their goodbyes by the entrance to his barracks. There was a desk set up with some cadre who were inprocessing returning students. Garma gave his father one last kiss on the cheek, grabbed his bags and got in line. He scanned the crowd for a glimpse of straw-blond hair and his good mood returned when he saw it. Garma hauled his bags to the back of the line to wait with his friend.

"Hey battle, glad to be back?" he asked Char.

"Actually, yes," Char said, smiling a bit. "I don't have a lot of money, being an orphan and all, so I didn't have a whole lot to do over break."

"You should've called me. I'd have picked you up and we could have hung out at my place. Money's not an issue for me."

There were moments when it was easy for Char to remind himself that Garma was the enemy. "How nice to know," he said sourly.

"Ah, don't be that way," Garma said as they all lifted their bags to move them forward as the line advanced. "I like sharing. Ask anybody."

"Maybe later," Char said.

Within a few minutes, they were inprocessed and ordered up to their room, which was the same one they'd occupied during the summer, As they went in past the CQ desk and up the stairs, they immediately noticed that the building was far more occupied. Their room was on the top floor and while the other two floors had been vacant and locked off during the summer, now the doors entering them had lights on behind them and senior cadets going in and out, calling out to each other with familiarity. As they went through the doors for the fourth floor, Garma noticed a few of them lurking at the floor guard's desk. They were talking softly and chuckling in a way he didn't like.

"Okay, so fill me in, what does Dozel say happens next?" Char said as he opened his empty wall locker and started filling it from his suitcase.

"You know me too well. I'm betting those guys at the desk are the cadet cadre. They're seniors who are going to be our zookeepers for the fall semester or so. Hope you've been stretching."

Within an hour, they heard the sound of several someones going down the hall, striking doors and calling out, "Ten minutes, in the courtyard, battle dress! 9 minutes, 50 seconds, in the courtyard, battle dress! 9 minutes, 40 seconds, in the courtyard...."

Char and Garma started pulling off their greys the second they heard the order spoken the first time. Garma had been ready with a battle dress uniform on top of the other contents of one of his suitcases, but they had to dump out Char's duffle in order to get to one of his, causing them to lose precious seconds. Once they were changed they joined the stampede for the stairs, and on the second flight down, Garma's boot heel slipped on the edge of the step. Immediately and with almost superhuman speed, Char's arm was around his chest, keeping him from slamming backwards onto the stairs in the way of the crowd. Char said nothing, and all Garma found himself thinking was that he was grateful and that Char's eyes were remarkably blue.

"Get in formation! Stand behind someone! It's not that hard, you pogues!" were the words greeting them as they tumbled into the courtyard. Char and Garma found themselves in the first rank, which hadn't filled up yet. They got their distance and waited at attention for their classmates to take places behind them. Char surreptitiously observed the three cadet cadre. There was an Asian female whose name tape identified her as Park, a male who was also Asian and whose name was Lun and lastly a tall European man whose short dishwater-blond hair was going grey.

Char didn't need to see the name tape of this last senior. Behind him he heard an awed whisper of, "That's Gato. Oh my God, Gato's one of our cadre!" Char wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

As soon as the occupants of the fourth floor were down and still fumbling into formation, Cadet Lun picked up a bullhorn. "At ease! Stop moving, stop talking! You can breathe, and you can blink, but I better not find you doing anything more than that!"

"What part of 'at ease' did you not understand?" shouted Park a few moments later.

"We are your student cadre," Lun continued through his bullhorn, which Char and Garma later agreed he liked a bit too much. "You will respect us and obey us as you did your cadre during the summer."

"I believe," Gato spoke for the first time, "that they think you have no smoke, battle."

"No smoke?" Lun exclaimed into the bullhorn again. Gato winced and touched his ear, so he lowered it. "I guess we better show them otherwise." The bullhorn went up again, though pointing away from any of the cadre. "Attention! Half right, face! Front leaning rest position, MOVE!"

"Yeah, baby!" someone behind Char exclaimed. Char didn't like to make unnecessary noise and Garma, he knew, dreaded these sessions far too much to make a sound.

"The pushup! In cadence, exercise! 1-2-3, One! 1-2-3, Two..."

The cadet cadre kept up the smoking for half an hour, alternating exercises between them. Lun was a traditionalist, liking pushups and flutter kicks. Park preferred immobility in difficult positions, such as sitting without anything to lean against. Gato was a lower-body workout man, long legged as he was. Finally the sweating and pained first-year cadets were allowed to recover.

The class was divided up into three platoons with Char and Garma in Park's. Char was relieved not to be in Lun's, because that bullhorn was going to be intolerable by the end of the week, if not the evening. He was, however, very curious about why Cadet Gato was such a celebrity.

They were allowed to go to dinner, after which they had a briefing in the day room from Cadet Park.

"I'll be your platoon leader for the semester," she told them. "After that, we'll determine which of you will move into student leadership for winter term, because Cadets Lun and Gato and I will be getting ready to take our last exams and graduate, so we're not going to have time to waste on you. Tomorrow you'll be given your list of classes and I'll march you to the bookstore where you will obtain books and supplies only. Sunday's your time. Classes start Monday, so if you want that quiet Sunday you won't piss me off."

Finally, they were allowed an hour and a half to finish unpacking, set up their beds and shower. "So who's this Gato guy?" Char finally asked as he lay tightly-rolled underwear in one of his drawers.

Garma's eyes were wide. "You joined the Mobile Suit Corps and you don't know who Anavel Gato is?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

"He was in the first class of cadets to be Mobile Suit Corps, and he's very, very good at it. Possibly best we've got. Cadet or no, he was a team leader in the liberation of Side 6 this past April, so he's already got a combat patch and a Liberation Force ribbon. My sister was the brains behind the whole mobile suit movement in weaponry so she talks about him quite a lot. Plus I think she might have the steaming panties for him."

"Your sister must have a fetish. That guy's as much a robot as the Zaku he pilots."

"Picked up on that already, did you? Yeah, I've seen him on TV and he's pretty dogmatic. I'm not sure if I'd want him as a platoon leader."

The next day was exactly as Park had described. They spent the morning in silent lines as they collected their books, which they did not have to pay for, and their supplies, for which they did and which Garma ended up partly funding for Char. They were issued Academy e-mail addresses and told to log in from the terminals in their rooms to be sure they worked.

"Motherfucker," Garma swore as soon as he fired up his account.

"What?"

"Check your e-mail."

Char did. "Motherfucker," he swore.

"So much for Sunday being our day to be left alone."

They both remained in silence, first contemplating the fact that for five classes, they had a minimum of fifty pages to read for each one, then the fact that Park had of course known perfectly well that this was going to happen when she said that Sunday would be their time.

"So do we start with _Introduction to the Zaku_ or _Universal Century: A Military History_?" Garma asked.

"I was thinking we should start with Applied Geometry myself, then the Zaku class and history class because I'm actually interested in those subjects, and save English 101 and this Guidebook For Zeon Officers for last. Those are easiest and we'll be tired."

Garma slid his chair over to Char's desk. "Then let's get started."

***

There were twenty cadets in Char's and Garma's platoon the first morning they all sat down in Introduction to the Zaku class. Ten days later at dinner, Cadet Ma whispered to the five other students at his table, "Guys, I don't know if I can stick this out."

"You giving out already?" asked Van Kamper.

"It's the lack of study time, man," Ma told them as he pushed some carrots around his plate. "I mean, three days a week when I should have my best study time I have to go do mandatory athletics, or I have CQ runner duty. I get two hours of lights-on time a day and I'm already totally sleep-deprived. Math was always my best class all through high school and the geometry should be a piece of cake, but today in class I completely blacked out when I was asked to solve that proof."

"What's giving you the most problems?" Garma asked.

"Introduction to the Zaku. The mechanics aren't gelling for me at all."

Char looked at Garma. "We're both really good at that. We could always do a study group half an hour an evening, every other night."

"I'd be down with that," said Van Kamper. "It's hardest for me too, but the other classes are easy so I haven't been having too much of a problem."

They fit the study group in starting an hour before lights out in case things ran long. Things seemed to go well, but when they lined up for PT on the Monday morning the week after they'd begun, Cadet Ma was gone. One afternoon a week later they had a test about the construction of the Zaku's leg. Cadet Rodriguez came out of it trying to suppress tears and after dinner, she too was gone.

_Dear Giren,_

_The weeks are rushing by faster than either my roommate or I expected, fueled by the pure frenzy of our day. 0500, PT. 0630, breakfast. 0800, room inspection. 0900 to 1600, classes. Dinnertime varies based on if we have athletics but, we're in our room studying by 1900, faced with a 2100 lights-out, after which we still do schoolwork in bed with booklights and laptops. Were any of your PhD's this tough?_

_Love,_

_Garma_

****

_Dear Frater Minor:_

_No, it was my first master's degree in economics that drove me into primal scream therapy. Having classwork and a thesis was quite the balancing act. Nothing like what you're going through of course; my workout consisted of shooting hoops when I felt like it, which was at odd moments when a sentence wasn't coming out right. Hang in there; you already know the parts of a mobile suit and the hands-on is coming up this week, right?_

_Love, _

_Giren (Frater Major Tuus)_

_***_

At week 5 of their 12-week semester, the remaining cadets did a final exam on the _Guidebook for Zeon Officers_ . Char came back from the supply closet where he'd been picking up some bathroom cleaner and told Garma, "Male Morgan, Female Hsiu and Ronaldo all are packing to leave. They didn't pass the exam today."

Garma looked up from his laptop where he was carefully reviewing a schematic of a Zaku cockpit. "How the hell could anyone have failed that loser class? We keep getting stopped in the hall by cadet cadre and drilled on it."

Char took the cleaner into the bathroom and placed it carefully in the regimented line of cleaners arranged shortest to tallest in the cubby beside the shower stall where they kept their ironing board (stolen once and recovered from the thief), mop and broom. He returned to the room and said, "Maybe they're afraid of tomorrow. Instead of learning military courtesies and table manners we switch to what it is we'll actually get paid for."

Garma shook his head. "Why would anyone be scared of the Zaku? Scratch that, it was a stupid comment to make. They are challenging machines. But Char, they are _so _much fun." He grinned in recollection. "Winona and I used to—"

He cut off what he was going to say. Char leaned against the desk and looked quizzical. "Winona. Who's Winona?"

Garma still smiled, but shook his head. 'You'll meet her. My girl is here at the Academy."

"You dog." Char clapped him on the shoulder and went to get his PTs out of his locker so he could get ready for bed.

_A girlfriend. Shit._ Garma Zabi had a girlfriend and that was the last thing Char needed. Things were going so well in the project to make himself the center of Garma's universe and gain an inroad to the royal family. If Garma were already involved Char would have to find his way to Princess Kishiria and that would be unlikely for a few years.

Things became more confusing for him the next morning. As they were cleaning their room after breakfast, Anavel Gato appeared in their doorway.

Char and Garma immediately went to parade rest. Gato ordered them to at ease. Then to their gasps of shock, he went to one knee in front of Garma.

"Your Highness, your presence is required on the flight line. It is my honour to have been ordered to escort you."

Char realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it. Garma, however, had slipped easily into his role of "prince" from his role as "cadet".

"There's no need to kneel before me, Cadet Gato. That's only required in the presence of my father the sovereign. Please stand."

Gato did, only to go to attention. Garma collected his computer and one spiral-bound manual they'd all been issued. "Let's go, Cadet Cadre."

The two left the room. Char picked up the dusting cloth he'd been using and shook his head as he went back to his cleaning. He remembered being a small boy and adults talking to him with great solemnity. He hadn't really stopped to consider what would have happened and how he might have been treated if his father hadn't died when he was ten.

He remembered standing on the lawn in front of their house in Side 3 waiting for a ceremony of some kind to begin. His sister Artesia, now called Sayla, was twirling in a blue dress. Their father, tall, blond and bearded, came out to collect them; Char for some reason particularly remembered the laugh lines around his eyes.

Char stomped down on that train of thought and concentrated on the tidiness of their cleaning supply area.

***

In the meantime, Garma and Gato were shuttling in an EZ-Go across campus to the mobile suit flightline. They rode in uncomfortable silence, Garma holding insecurely to his school materials as Gato drove. At last they parked outside a large hangar where Gato slid a magnetized card for entrance.

Once in the door, Garma said, "Cadet Gato, is there a place where I could speak to you in private?"

Gato nodded and walked him to an alcove with doors on all three sides, presumably leading to maintenance closets. "Sir?"

Garma looked up at the older man. Gato was a good five inches taller than Garma and Garma thought he looked so much more like what a Zeon officer should be. _A war hero at 20, _he reflected. "Cadet Gato, I appreciate you remembering my situation as a member of the royal family. However, it puts me in a bit of an awkward position."

Gato frowned. "Sir?"

"Right now, I'm not in a position to be called 'Sir' or 'Your Highness'. I'm just Cadet Zabi. And that's not false humility or noblesse oblige on my part either. If I'm not Cadet Zabi and treated like everyone else I'm not going to learn how to be an officer in the Mobile Suit Corps. Not correctly, at any rate."

Gato frowned even more. "Sir...I mean Cadet...I don't understand, sir. I've worked with your sister and I'm treating you as she wanted to be treated, and as she said I should treat you."

Garma exhaled deeply and concentrated on a nearby doorknob for a few moments, composing himself. _No anger, Garma. This is not his fault. _"Cadet Cadre Gato, I am not my sister. Kishiria and I have different philosophies about being officers and we will have different command styles once I take command. She is more like our brother Giren whereas my role model is my brother Dozel. Are we understood?"

It had sunk in. "I understand, Cadet Zabi. Should I not have brought you here in advance of the other members of your class?"

"No, given the task at hand, that was completely appropriate. I'm in an odd position with this class to begin with. Now, set me up before the others get here. Is there a senior instructor or are you it?"

"I'm it. This corps is still small, and the other mobile suit pilots are stationed elsewhere, training other pilots. Since I'm a cadet and know as much as any of them do, TRADOC decided that they'd kill two birds with one stone and have me be the instructor. I'm glad to have you to assist me."

Garma nodded. "Well let's get started."

***

Char had resolved at the beginning of the semester never to ride on a bus again, but given that he'd never had a chance to learn to drive, he'd immediately but grudgingly admitted that this was probably impossible. Now he found himself loaded with the rest of the platoon onto one of the ubiquitous white buses that shuttled them around whenever they needed to go to a site in a hurry. Introduction to the Zaku was a normal class, although one that would take half their school day from here on out, so a twenty minute march to class every morning would not be productive.

The bus pulled up in front of an enormous steel hangar. They came off the bus and moved into formation on autopilot. Every cadet's attention was drawn to the open metal doors at the end of the hangar and the four metal giants standing motionlessly within.

Char felt his heart skip a beat. He'd been reading about these all semester. Footage of the liberation of Side 6 had been on every television screen in the colonies, but on Earth it had been censored. Still he didn't know if seeing Zakus on the small screen would have been adequate preparation to being in the presence of one.

The platoon moved into the hangar itself to a set of metal bleachers that, like the buses, were a constant detail of Academy life. As soon as they were in place, every eye was fixed on the Zakus. These had been used in combat, Char noticed. He could see gouges in the metal that had been painted over and scorch marks which had not.

Without warning, he was blinded by red light. For one horrible and irrational second Char thought he'd been found out and vapourized by some unknown weapon until he heard the gasps and screams of the other cadets around him. Then he heard two male voices laughing at them from a PA system above their heads.

The light from the two mono-eyes vanished and they were left blinking in pain. **"I do apologize, but neither of us could resist," ** Anavel Gato's voice spoke from the Zaku on the right. Char could only know that by sound; he was still half blind.

"**Don't believe him, he's not sorry at all," **Garma's voice followed.

A moment later, as their vision was returning, the cadets heard the whirr of motors as the cockpit doors of the two Zakus opened. Garma and Gato each stepped onto the movable lift that was parked between the Zakus and descended to the cement floor.

"Welcome to the hands-on portion of this course," Gato told them as Garma looked on. "You'll be here every morning until you graduate. If I could have my own way I'd simply sleep here, which in the past I have had to do, but the Academy insists I spend the other half of my day on other academics. I've taken top marks in mobile suit engineering and piloting since I started here in 0074 and as I suppose most of you have heard, I actually flew this Zaku when Zeon liberated Side 6. That experience and the knowledge that as a cadet I was able to free a country that had asked for our help was so far the proudest moment of my life, and the kind of thing that you have to look foward to as well. Lt. Col. Davies is the officer in charge here, but I will be instructing you as will Cadet Zabi." He gestured at Garma to step forward.

Garma did. "I can see by your expressions that nobody was expecting to see me up here. I'm actually going to be instructing as well, but on a more limited basis than Cadet Gato. I don't have the combat experience he does, so he's going to be taking the lead when it comes to use of the Zaku in combat. However, I've been flying Zakus and experimental mobile suits since my sister Princess Kishiria asked me to a couple of years back*. They needed someone with good manual dexterity and the ability to multitask on various instruments. I'm a musician so they thought I might do all right and I did. So ask me about picking up the machine gun and moving it around and ask Cadet Gato how to actually use it. By the way. This Zaku here," he stepped backward and patted the tip of the giant foot, "is _the _first Zaku prototype, called Winona. She's seen combat, but not with me as pilot."

"Any questions?" Gato asked. "All right. Follow me to the classroom and we'll start prepping for the simulators."

***

"Winona was a _mobile suit_?" Char asked disbelievingly that night back in their room. "You had me convinced she was a girlfriend."

"Rebound romance," Garma commented. "I'd just broken up with somebody and that left me with plenty of time to work for Kish doing some test drives."

Char nodded. "Harder to fuck up your own life in a rebound relationship with a fifty foot robot. Be hard to resist the urge to use it for revenge, though."

Garma shook his head. "It wasn't that kind of a breakup. She went her way and I went mine is all. We didn't even fight; it was one of those end of high school things where you're not going to be able to share a future for the next four years. Test piloting sure took my mind off my problems though. I can't wait to get back in the cockpit and knowing we won't until next year is absolute hell. At least I'll be instructing during the simulator phase and not having to go through it like I have no idea what I'm doing."

Char shook his head. "You are full of surprises, Garma Zabi."

Garma smiled and executed a small bow. "I do try."

***

Midterms were the next ordeal. The normal practice at Zeon colleges and universities was to take a week off during which students were expected to start research on term papers, but this was not the case at the Academy. Still, during the free afternoon the cadets had after their last exam on Friday, Garma was called to the commander's office. Since policy required he be accompanied by another cadet, Char gamely tagged along.

Garma reported to General Vanderwyck and remained at attention until the general assured him he wasn't in any trouble and told him to stand at ease. "I've been contacted by the palace," he said. "They've informed me that you're going to be needed on occasional weekends. Therefore I'm going to be issuing you weekend passes from time to time so that you can make appearances on behalf of the royal family and carry out duties related to the monarchy."

"Yes, sir."

"Zabi, you're the third of your family to come through these gates and I must say you've impressed me very favourably. I was expecting you to be pampered and used to getting your own way, and for that I have to apologize. You've more than met standards and from all reports you're not only competent you're extremely professional. Given these passes, I expect you to continue to uphold those standards when you're given freedom. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your first one will just be Sunday, so your father has asked that you be released at about 1600 Saturday evening, returning you 1900 Sunday. I believe you'll be addressing a Jewish troop of Scouts Zeon. Any questions or concerns?"

"My grades, sir."

"Your grades? I understand they're very good."

"We cadets have organized study groups. We do a lot of intense studying on weekends. I'm hoping that being away from them won't hurt my grades."

"You have three brilliant siblings. I'm sure they can help you."

Knowing that contradicting the general would be disrespectful, Garma merely answered, "Yes, sir," again. Kishiria had her own work and social life. Dozel was off on a ship for several months. Giren was still dubious about the value of mobile suits, largely because he hadn't been the one to dream them up.

More to the point, he wouldn't be with Char.

"You can reach me through the Academy intranet," Char said. "You can log into it from the outside world. I just can't contact you until they take the blocks off our Web access next year."

Garma nodded as he packed packed his study materials into a bag. "Would you believe I'm actually scared to go home? I've gotten so used to being here in this tiny cloistered little world that suddenly going out into the normal world of freedom is kind of freaking me out. I wish I could take you with me."

Char came over and lay a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine. I'm just an e-mail or an online chat away. I won't let your GPA sink."

Garma laid his hand over Char's. "Thanks."

Garma rode in a typical house limo back to the palace. He was told to immediately change from his grey cadet's uniform and meet his father in Degin's private dining room.

Accustomed now to obeying swiftly, Garma grabbed clothes out of his closet and was in his father's quarters in minutes. Degin, who was also in street clothing, rose to his feet slowly, assisted by his cane as usual.

"My dear boy!"

"Hi, Dad." Garma strode over quickly and gave his father the biggest hug he could. "Didja miss me?"

"They say there are no stupid questions, but they are wrong," Degin answered. "The palace has been like a grave without your sound and fury."

"I write all the time."

"Letters don't make noise. You seem well. I worry about you constantly."

Garma took his father's hand as the walked toward the dining room. "I'm fine, Dad, really. I've got a good support structure and there are people who rely on me. It's hard at school but for the first time in my life I'm really part of something. When I need help, someone can give it, and since I'm what passes for a mobile suit expert, I end up being able to help out other cadets and I love that."

"Yes, well you're needed for Team Zabi as well." Degin grunted slightly as he lowered himself into his dining room chair. A servant quietly placed green salads in front of them. "I know what you're thinking. Dear old Dad has an excuse to call you from the Academy so he does. You're needed here, at least part time. Dozel is off on ship duty. Kishiria is starting to make inspection tours of all the military bases. It's down to Giren and myself to do public appearances and you know that Giren doesn't always do well at that. Zena is doing what she can but her niche is small, women's charities and such.

"We've divided the labour. Giren speaks to higher-level groups who welcome his kind of delivery, the Zeon Bar Association, anything involving scientists or medical professionals. Zena speaks to women's groups. You're going to get the youth group requests and anything requiring a good public face."

"Me?" Garma blinked in surprise.

"You. You're handsome and personable, Garma, and you're the best face the family has to put forward. You start tomorrow, and it's quite simple. You'll be given your speech in the car. Review it and read it. Knowing you, you'll be able to improvise speeches very soon, based on a few notes, but please, walk before you run. You'll do well, I have every confidence in you."

The salad dishes were removed and replaced by main courses.

"How often am I going to be doing this, Dad?"

Degin shrugged. "Frequently, most likely. The family business is shorthanded."

"Like I told General Vanderwyck, I'm worried about my grades. My marks are only good because I spend most of my time studying and working with other cadets. Cutting me off from that for weekends could really hurt me."

Degin looked at him with understanding. "We'll work something out. I'm not going to set you up for failure."

After dinner, Garma fetched his bicycle from the underground garage and lit out into the twilit streets. Zum City had an extensive system of paved bike trails through the many acres of forested greenspace common to most Lagrange-style colonies and he happily breathed in the smell of the trees as much as he did the atmosphere of the stores and restaurants of the neighbourhood into which he arrived. His destination was a square of three-story stone townhouses facing a small park. The square was part of the area called Republic Park, home to high profile politicians, heads of corporations and people associated with the palace.

One of these was Giren Zabi, who opened the front door for his younger brother. "Garma! We've been looking forward to seeing you. Glad to be out on parole?"

Garma rolled his bike across the black and white marble floor and leaned it against a wall before hugging his oldest sibling. "It doesn't feel real. It won't last long either; I'm giving a speech tomorrow afternoon and then back to the coal mines with me."

He followed Giren into the library where Giren's partner Cecilia was by a food-laden table, lighting some candles. Giren and Cecilia had an odd household together. Giren didn't like seeing servants, so they all left soon before he came home. He and Cecilia would do whatever was necessary in the house themselves. Giren was still legally married to another woman, but woe betide anyone who referred to Cecilia as his mistress or anything that might possibly denigrate her status in his life. Garma didn't find that complicated. Instead, he thought it resulted in his brother's home being cozy and reassuring.

"Garma, you're back!"

"Only for this one night," Garma said, kissing Cecilia on the cheek. "I have a bunch of rules I have to follow, like not wandering off into town instead of staying with family or palace staff."

"Bet you're not allowed to drink, either," Giren said.

"Nope."

"Well, good thing this isn't alcohol, then," Giren responded, holding up a bottle of wine.

Cecilia had set out plates of bread that she had no doubt baked herself, fruit and cheeses. Giren uncorked the wine and the three of them shooed the cats off the overstuffed sofa in the middle of the room so they could sit. The conversation was a variant on the same one that Garma had been having with everyone he'd encountered since he left school, about the Academy and how things were going. With Giren and Cecilia though he felt free to talk more about the things he and the other cadets went through.

Eventually the candles burned down, the first wine bottle stood empty and he and Cecilia were settled on either side of Giren, who had one of his arms around each of their shoulders. Giren seemed on the verge of nodding off and Cecilia asked the very usual question of whether or not Garma had met anyone interesting at the Academy.

He shook his head. "No. What's the point? Dad's just going to hook me up with someone anyway."

"Oh, you'll fall in love. I did," Giren said, waking up and taking an interest.

"I hope not, because I know I'll end up falling for the most wrong person I can find," Garma told her. "I've got the common sense of a pork chop."

"Don't sell yourself short," Giren told him sternly.

"I'm not going to let Dad fix me up with the first person who comes along, though," Garma said. "I mean, he should have realized you weren't going to be able to live with Ingrid. Not having you around gives her that much more space for her shoe collection." He snorted. "Ah, I shouldn't be so hard on the woman. Her crass consumerism keeps the Zeon economy afloat. Tell her to buy another Maison Genevieve designer original, will you? My squad needs a new guidon and the rest can go for an orphanage or something." He took another slug of wine.

"I dunno, Garma, you talk an awful lot about your roommate Char," Cecilia said with a grin.

"Use Occam's Razor. I see him every day and he's my battle buddy," Garma responded, but some pinkness had risen in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fact that he was drinking.

Garma looked up at Giren for validation. Giren had a strange, sad look on his face and his arm tightened convulsively around Garma.

"Giren, don't squeeze me so hard!" he exclaimed.

Giren released him and hastily changed the subject to the doings of their sister. Garma put the incident out of his mind and had enough wine that he ended up sleeping on the couch. A staff car brought him his uniform the next morning so that he could join his father for church. After a late breakfast, he went off to his first public appearance before a troop of yarmulke-wearing Scouts Zeon.

Returning to his barracks room was a strange feeling after 24 hours in the real world. Char wasn't there, so Garma remained in his grey uniform until he found Char with Van Kamper, about to head out to dinner.

"Miss me at study group?" Garma asked.

Char and Van Kamper looked at each other. "We were the study group. We lost more people and now the Mobile Suit Corps class of 0081 is down to 18 people, including the three of us."

Garma blinked. "That's the perfect mind-bending ending to a mind-bending weekend."

Van Kamper grinned. "You partied that hard?"

"No, but I spent time with my family and that's weird enough, thanks."

The evening passed according to routine once they were at dinner. They returned back to their room where Char spent his own free time with Garma reviewing material for the next week.

####

_8 November 0077_

_Dear Char:_

_Your aunt and I are delighted to hear that you do well at school and that you're excelling in your mobile suit courses. I've told you over and over how important it is that you know this subject, and I am glad you agree that it's going to be key for our long-term future. I was utterly stunned to discover that your roommate is already a pilot and is assisting the instructors. This is a very fortunate turn of events, and one I had not anticipated. You absolutely must do all you can to maintain this friendship. After all, the friends you make in the Academy are the ones that will influence your career for the rest of your life._

_Best regards and love from your dear little sister._

_Uncle Jean_

_####_

Char read his uncle's letter and sighed deeply as he looked over at Garma. Garma was sitting at his desk, silently working on math problems as he had been for hours. It had become steadily more and more difficult to keep Garma chatting with him and engaged since he'd started having to sacrifice weekends to his "family business" as he called it. He'd leave on Friday or Saturday, come home Sunday before dinner chow, then talk to Char only enough to catch up on what the various study groups had been doing.

Garma's reaction to touching Char after the pushup competition had confirmed to him that the other cadet had a physical attraction to him. Char had been playing that angle a bit, but faced with the possibility of the friendship cooling, it was looking like he'd have to raise the pressure on it.

Cadet uniforms had to be dry cleaned, and theirs had just come back from the cleaners. Char took the two plastic bags and said, "You're busy. I'll fix up your uniform since I'm doing mine."

"Thanks." Garma put down his pencil and starting typing formulas into his computer.

Char got their name plates and pin-on insignia from a drawer and placed them with some help from a slide rule. Garma didn't look up as Char slipped the hanger with the uniform over the open door of his locker.

"You really are that worried about your grades," Char observed.

"Mm?"

He pulled up a chair. "My chatterbox friend Garma has been replaced by a homework machine."

Garma tapped a final few keys. "Helping my dad out is making my life a lot harder. I get some work done over the weekend, but face it, home is full of distractions. I can't deny my father his time with me, and I do like to see Giren and Cecilia. Plus I have friends over and there's my music." Garma held his fingertips against the desk as if it were a piano keyboard. "Just this past weekend I think I spent two hours at the piano and another two on my bass and acoustic guitar. All the time I knew I should be studying but damn it, I had to get that out of my system."

"I haven't heard you play an instrument yet," Char told him.

"Come to church with me on a Sunday when I'm here and you'll get to hear me play piano. I always get to do one hymn or interlude."

"That means getting up at six on a Sunday."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I'll think about it. In the meantime, ask me if you need any extra help, because I'll bet everyone is telling you to relax and that you're going to do fine, with none of them knowing a damn thing about what it is we do here."

"You called it." Garma rubbed at his eyes wearily. "Look man, I think I can hold out until the end of the semester. Finals are three weeks away. Keep me going that long and I'll have time to think up some manipulative youngest-brat-child trick to use on my dad for January."

"Okay but you know me. I've got no family to waste any of my time on, outside the uncle who writes to me sometimes. And I am pulling down a 94% average in my classes so I think I can spare a little of my time to help out my roomie."

"Thanks, Char. You're a true friend and I wish there was something I could do for you.

"Like you said, you'll think of something." Char squeezed Garma's shoulder reassuringly. He didn't think Garma realized that Garma's expression changed from tense to blissful almost immediately.

###

_Dear Dozel:_

_How's life on the ship? I'm not surprised that you're going to be out in space over Christmas but it doesn't mean I have to like it. We're reviewing for finals this week and despite my fears, I think I'll do okay. My class formed a really efficient team when it came to academics. We had as many dropouts as predicted, but this course and way of life isn't for everyone. All but one moved into other MOSs. _

_As for the picture you sent me. I'm sure reactions to it will be interesting. _

_Not much else because I have to go finish this history paper. I'll talk to you over Christmas break._

_Oooah, _

_Garma_

"Oh my god, that's hilarious!"

"Quit bogarting it, battle, let me see that thing! Holy crap it _is_ him!"

Garma grinned as the photo he'd printed out the night before went from hand to hand. True, they were in the mobile suit hangar and yes, they really were supposed to be studying their manuals while Cadet Gato drilled teams of two on the cockpit of a Zaku. This meant that the senior cadet was out of range inside a mobile suit torso as they examined the picture.

"You sure this is such a good idea?" Char asked. "I mean, you're the one who practically cries every time we get smoked."

"Dozel sent it to me to show to others. Far be it from me to disobey the orders of a superior officer. Besides, it's a photo from the proudest moment of our instructor's life."

Char watched as the photo changed hands again. It was a shot of Cadet Gato standing at attention as Dozel Zabi pinned the Zeon Medal of Honour Second Class to his white Academy dress uniform. What made the picture was that Gato was clearly about to burst into tears or throw up, possibly both.

What struck Char most about it was again how huge Prince Dozel was. Gato was easily six feet tall himself and Dozel dwarfed him.

Montoya and Zhou, the two cadets who had been in the Zaku torso, returned and two others set out. "That was pretty brutal," Montoya said. "I swear, Gato knows the name of every spring in the pilot's seat."

"I think the last guy who sat in it was farting," Zhou commented.

"Thank you, cadet, I don't think any of us could have lived without that little editorial," Van Kamper said.

"He probably did it," Char said, pointing to Garma.

"I don't know what 'it' is, but I'm going to find out," said an unexpected voice. They all jumped as Gato appeared like a ghost from behind a tool locker. "So tell me, what's more interesting than studying for your exam? I'm practically spoon-feeding you little idiots this information. You could at least help me out a bit by doing what you're supposed to." He turned his cold gaze to Cadet Deng, who cringed. "Deng, you're not doing so well in this class that you can afford to be giggling at something unrelated. Now, what is it?"

The photo was handed over. Char glanced over at Garma, who he expected to be stricken with fear but who instead seemed quite calm.

"Well, this is interesting," Gato said when he finally had the printout in his hands. "Not a good picture of me, is it? There's a reason they didn't use this one in the news." He crumpled it up and flatly ordered them, "Fall in."

They rushed into a quick formation of three rows of six.

Gato's tone of voice didn't change as he went on, "Open ranks, march. Half-right, face. Front leaning rest position, move."

They didn't get any further studying done because the last twenty minutes of the class period were spent with the cadets doing pushups, flutter kicks and duck-walking around the class space. At the top of the hour Gato had them fall in again and dismissed them.

"Not you, Cadet Zabi. I'll drive you back to the chow hall because we have to have a little talk."

Char had no choice but to ride back with the others, who were bitching quietly about what a troublemaker Zabi was, and how he must have thought his position would protect them all.

"No, he's actually a pretty good roommate," Char answered when asked about the petty betrayals they reasoned Garma must have inflicted on him. "His brother told him to show that photo off in class, and I don't know why."

Garma re-appeared as they were starting their meal. "Dozel wanted me to show it off," Garma said. "I thought it was going to be some kind of joke between him and Gato but apparently it wasn't. Gato and I had a talk about it, which is why I wasn't here at the beginning of lunch."

"Don't tell me Dozel did it to humiliate him."

"Looks that way."

"Dozel hates Gato? Not much of a way to treat a hero of Side 6. What'd Gato do?"

"No, Dozel likes Gato just fine, but Gato told me that Dozel said he needed to be taken down a peg and when he least expected it, to expect it. I just got to be the messenger who got shot, and you guys got shot with me."

"Garma, your family are assholes."

"They can be. You won't find me disputing that. Nobody gets to power without being one, which is one thing that worries me about the military because I don't think I have it in me."

"I think you'll find that's an easy skill to learn. Comes naturally to most people."

Garma paused to actually get some forkfuls of food into his mouth. "I've heard some

horror stories about my dad, and I bet they're all true."

Char decided to slide the knife in and see if it hit anything vital. "Even the one about him murdering Zeon Deykun?"

Garma snorted. "There's stories about my dad being an asshole and there's wackjob conspiracy theories. My dad murdering Deykun is definitely the latter. Anyway, I apologized to Gato and said I'd talk to Dozel because I know there was a reason for that."

Char didn't hear the rest. So Garma did know the rumour, and the nonchalant way in which he mentioned it made Char wonder if it was familiar on Side 3. He hadn't grown up there, so he had no way of knowing. He wondered what Jinba Ral would have said at that moment. He probably would have taken it as a sign of Zabi hubris. Char resolved to ask him about it through coded messages he'd be able to send at the winter break.

The conversation had moved in another direction so Char had to redirect his attention. He felt as if his reality had been pulled a foot to the left and he remained in that state for much of the afternoon.

He got through his remaining classes, returned his school materials to his room and marched with the rest to dinner chow. After that was the last gymnastics team practice of the year, so Char's attention had to be maximally focused to keep his body spinning properly in the air over the gymnastic horse that was his main event.

He showered and went back to his room. Garma was nowhere to be seen and the lights were off except for Garma's desk light. Char shrugged and removed his PT jacket and pants, leaving himself in the t-shirt and shorts he wore to sleep.

"Char? Is that you?" Garma's voice was muffled.

"Yeah, where are you?"

"Um…I'm in my locker, could you come get me?"

"What's the combination?"

Garma told him. Char swung the door open to reveal Garma, still in his daytime grey uniform, hanging from his tunic from a hook inside.

"I've been here for an hour and a half," Garma said.

"Hold on." Char wrapped his arms around Garma's waist and slung him over his shoulder, lifting him off the hook and pulling him out of the locker at the same time. Garma was thin and wiry and weighed very little in his arms.

Once he had Garma down on the floor, Char asked, "Who did this to you?"

Garma took off his tunic and surveyed the damage. "Everybody. I got everybody smoked today so after you left they swarmed in here, picked me up and hung me in the locker."

"Let me get dressed, we'll go report it."

Garma stared at him, a huge grin on his face. "Are you crazy? This is the happiest day of my life. It means they think of me as one of the cadets, not as a member of the royal family. I belong, Char. I don't have to worry about if I'm normal or not here. All the same, I've lost time on homework. Can you help me?"

Char blinked. "Of course. I promised you, didn't I?"

***

Exam week came and went. English and history were the easiest subjects, and after turning in their term papers and taking a final that wasn't terribly challenging to either of them, they were done. There was a practical exam on drill and ceremony and a classroom geometry test. Then there were two days on mobile suit technology. Since Garma was an assistant instructor, he received grade of "pass" as opposed to a letter grade, then assisted Gato in administering tests to the others.

He would have liked to have been the one giving Char the practical exam, which had to be done one at a time, but since Char was his roommate Gato took him.

That day ended at lunch, which was unusually loud with uniformly cheerful voices for a change. Afterwards, Garma immediately pulled his luggage out of his locker, where his bags had been sitting mostly packed for days. As he started to change into a pair of jeans, a button down shirt and a sweater he looked at Char and said, "Aren't you going to pack?"

Char shook his head. "I have permission to stay here. I don't have anyone to stay with over this break."

"Oh." Garma looked around himself guiltily. "You could get out to a hotel or something for a few days."

let me go begging for anything. Besides, I'm an orphan and Christmas just isn't a big deal for me. When's your car coming for you?"

Garma looked at his watch. "They should be here any minute. They'll call me downstairs when it arrives. Char, I don't feel right about abandoning you like this."

"I'll be all right. Trust me on this, I'm a big boy. Listen, why don't you just leave your uniforms here and give yourself only one bag to carry home?"

"I need one uniform for Christmas day when I'm on tv."

"So unpack one and take the rest."

There was a knock on the door. "Zabi! Your staff car is here."

"I'll be there in a second!" Garma turned back to Char, then reached for a pen and a notebook that lay on Char's desk. "Look, this is the number for the residential section of Zabi House. You have to give the operator your name and she'll connect you to my apartment. Call me every day so I know you're all right."

"I will. Garma, you're cute when you fret."

"Well…Dad's always trying to impress the idea that being the royal family means we have to take care of our people. We serve them, not the other way around."

Char put his hands on Garma's shoulders. "You'd better get going."

Garma put his hands on Char's. "Okay. Take care."

They stood like that for a moment before Char pulled Garma to himself, inclined his head slightly, and kissed him.

Garma's body went hot and cold with shock. His paralysis only lasted a moment. He slid his arms around Char's ribcage, holding him closely as the kiss continued. Char's lips were firm and forceful against his own and he tasted slightly of cinnamon from the cookies they'd eaten as dessert. His body was hard with sculpted muscle.

"Zabi! Your car's here!" a voice called from behind the door.

They broke apart. "Coming!" Garma grabbed his overcoat and threw it around his shoulders, buttoning it up and grabbing his bag. "Char…I…that was…."

Char smiled. "You need to get going. I'll be here when you get back."

Garma stepped over to him and placed a quick peck on Char's lips. "I'll see you later."

He disappeared out the door. Char's smile didn't fade. Garma really was very adorable, and it wasn't at all fair that an accident of birth was going to turn him into a tool of vengeance.

Then again, life had taught Char in no uncertain terms that life wasn't fair, for anyone. The smile faded and he turned to his room, which looked half ransacked. As he tidied, he mentally lined up things to do while he was alone. It was going to be a long two weeks.

*See "Eaglet of Zeon".


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days were both deliriously happy and miserably tortured for Garma. He hadn't seen Zabi House decorated for Christmas yet, and the palace ballroom with its 15-foot tree, the pine swags on the banisters of the staircases, the displays of lights and hangings of carefully arranged fruit reminded him of how much he enjoyed this time of year.

His sister Kishiria had returned from her tour of the bases, and within a few moments of conversation with her, he could tell that their reunion would be bittersweet. On one hand she was clearly proud of him. On the other she was deeply resentful of his success in pursuing a harder course of action at the Academy than she had chosen. Still, they had dinner together and spent some time in the shopping district, looking at department store window displays.

The source of Garma's misery was of course that he was happily in love but couldn't tell anyone when he wanted desperately to do so. At dinner on Christmas Eve he found himself looking around the candlelit table at his family. No one was in a mood to hear about a teenager's new love interest. Degin was well known for not being sympathetic to same-sex relationships. Giren was leery of emotional entanglements; Garma remembered that he'd actually been angry with himself for falling for Cecilia Irene at first. Zena was pining for Dozel, far away on a ship. Kishiria had never, to Garma's knowledge, had a romance with anyone.

Degin's televised Christmas message had been prepared weeks in advance, but after dinner, the family did one take of standing in front of the tree. It would be edited onto the end of the message so that it looked as if the sovereign walked from the room in which he'd been speaking at the end of the message to the tree where his family was waiting. This was a simple enough shot, merely involving everyone but Zena being in their uniforms and smiling as convincingly as possible. From there, Garma and Degin went to midnight Mass, still in uniform. Garma had never thought of going to church as being part of his job, but as a public appearance it was that night.

He noticed, as the service was winding down after 1 a.m.,that his father looked very weary. Degin had been a vigorous man before Garma was born, but he'd been slowing down for as long as Garma could remember. The cane he carried as a badge of office had once been only a walking stick, and Garma thought his olive skin looked greyer than it had a few months ago. Garma leaned back in the pew, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the idea of his father's mortality.

He didn't have much time to mull this over. The next morning at around nine his doorbell rang. Garma shuffled from his bedroom to the door of his apartment to find Kishiria outside.

"Happy Christmas, pipsqueak. We're all waiting on you in Dad's suite."

"I never get to sleep in," Garma muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"I know, but Giren's here, and he just wants to open presents, get some breakfast and get home to his woman. "

Garma observed that Kishiria was already dressed in one of the long but simple gowns that were in style with women at the court, in the light purple that Kishiria favoured. "You're dressed. Let me get dressed too."

He got into a pair of dark slacks and a pullover before accompanying his sister down the hall. As Kishiria had reported, Giren and Zena were already there in Degin's spacious living room. Giren was watching the news and sipping from a mug of tea. Zena still seemed alone and sad and was seated on a loveseat with her father in law.

As the family opened presents, Garma had a sudden revelation. He looked at Giren, who was thriving in a relationship that their father did not approve of. It wasn't an ideal situation, but all he had to do was keep Cecilia inside their domestic sphere to have happiness. Otherwise everyone in the family was alone, from his widowed father to the loveless Kishiria. Giren was the only one who would be going home later to the arms of his beloved.

If all it took was a healthy set of boundaries, Garma felt there was a worthy experiment here. After Christmas dinner he sat down at his computer to do some online research. The information he found was both encouraging and inspirational. Then he got his coat, went downstairs and signed out one of the household vehicles.

When Garma parked his car in the lot outside their barracks, the first thing he did was to look up to the window of the room he shared with Char. Sure enough, the light was on and he could see a silhouette moving against the blinds. He resolutely left the car and walked up the stairs, hands buried deep in the pockets of his overcoat. He stopped to greet the sergeant at the CQ desk, for whom he'd brought a package of coffee, knowing that no matter who was on duty, it would be appreciated.

"I'm here to fetch Aznable," he explained.

"He's up there. Only leaves to go to chow and to rent movies."

"I'm here to put an end to that. I'm taking him back to my place."

The sergeant nodded. "He needs that. He'll say he won't, but I see it in his eyes. That boy is lonely, and what's worse, he thinks that's normal. Wish you could have been here earlier today."

"So do I, but Christmas is a workday in my house."

"I seen you on TV. I know it."

"Well, Merry Christmas to you, seeing as you were working too."

"Nah, I only came on duty at noon. I got to open presents with my kids. You go on up and get your battle."

Garma went up the stairs and opened the door to their room. Char was dressed in jeans and a sweater, sitting on the bed with a can of cola beside him, watching a movie on his laptop. He looked up at Garma and somehow didn't seem surprised.

"How was your family Christmas, Garma?"

Garma sat down on the bed and gave him a hug before answering, "Tedious. On TV half the day, followed by presents from a family where half of the members wish they were someplace else."

"Get a lot of nice presents?"

"A few, and you're about to. Pack a bag, you're coming home with me."

Char's eyes went wide. "Garma!"

"We don't have to be back until January 3. I'll help you."

"I don't want to get in the way."

"You won't be in the way. Char, I've got my own apartment in the palace complex. If you think that you're going to be interfering in some joyful family togetherness scene, you don't have anything to worry about. Now get your suitcase."

Char blinked at this sudden forcefulness from Garma. "Okay."

He pulled his bag from the top of his wall locker and began putting his civilian clothes into it. Certainly he'd been bored over the past four days, but he thought he might prefer that over going right into the belly of the beast the way Garma was inviting him to do.

"You all right, Char?" Garma was gathering up the laptop and other things Char had left strewn around his bed.

"Fine. Just changing mental gears is all. I was all psyched to spend the holidays by myself and then you show up."

A few minutes later, the two friends were downstairs. "Going to miss me, Sergeant?" Char asked.

He grinned. "Hell no! You were the last cadet in here. With you gone I can put in my pornos after the football game's over."

"I wouldn't want to keep you from that. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, cadets."

"How'd you get here?" Char asked as they carried his bag out of the building.

"I drove my car like a normal person."

"You're not supposed to drive during holidays in first-year."

Garma unlocked the trunk of his car. "I usually don't take advantage of being a Zabi when it comes to the Academy, but today I said fuck it. Let's get out of here."

They drove to the palace in relative quiet, occasionally commenting on the music playing on the radio. Garma was puzzled by the way Char was acting. After the warmth of their goodbye before Garma had left for the holidays, he had expected something other than the distance Char was projecting now. Well, Char had been braced for spending the holidays alone, so maybe what he said about changing emotional gears was true.

Despite being nervous, which he was trying to conceal, Char had to admit he was curious as to what Garma's living space would be like. They took an elevator from the underground parking garage up to a residential level that looked like a hallway in any upscale apartment building.

"Who lives here?" Char asked.

Garma pointed to the doors. "Dad's all the way at the end there, I'm at the other end of the hall from him. We have empty apartments for visitors, but that one is Kishiria's when she's in town, which she is right now."

"Why is your dad so far away from you? I thought you two got along."

Garma unlocked his door. "We do. I just tend to make a lot of noise." He opened the door and let Char in.

Char looked around. Immediately to his left was a good-sized galley kitchen. A counter separated it from the rest of the room with two barstools in front of the counter. A collection of wine glasses, martini glasses, and brandy snifters hung from their stems over it, suggesting that Garma liked to entertain. The counter separated the kitchen from the living room, where a large couch hunkered in front of a flat TV hanging on the wall. The TV in turn was connected to a collection of stereo and video equipment on a credenza below. Beside that was a closed door. To his right was a hallway.

"Hang up your coat and get comfortable," Garma said. "I'll give you the nickel tour. Don't need to explain this room, but in here," he walked swiftly to the closed door, "is the reason Dad stuck me all the way down here."

Char stuck his head in. The thickly-carpeted room held a baby grand piano and an assortment of electric and acoustic guitars on stands. "I can see where he wouldn't want to be near that. At least you don't play drums."

"That's one I don't play, true." He shut the door. "Down the hall here is the bathroom, in here's the washer and dryer—"

"You don't have servants for that?"

Garma looked him in the eye. "I don't like other people touching my underwear."

"Oh."

"And this is my room right here." Garma opened that door to show a neatly-made double bed, a desk with a computer, and a few bookshelves.

"Not what I expected."

"I keep things pretty simple. I've been in this place since I was 16 and didn't want to live in a bedroom in my dad's suite anymore. He didn't want to let me go, so I developed insomnia all of a sudden and played my piano at three in the morning until he gave in."

Char laughed. Garma grinned along with him and then looped his arm through Char's. "Hey, I said I have presents for you. Come back into the living room and I'll get them."

Char sat on the couch while Garma went back into the music room and came out carrying some wrapped packages. He dropped them onto Char's lap. "Open from top to bottom."

Char opened the first. It was a department store box and turned out to be a sweater in a light red that carefully skirted the border of pink without crossing over. "I noticed you gravitate to red," Garma explained.

"It's really nice. Looks like it fits, too."

"I looked at your tunic size. That was easy."

The next presents were music by bands Garma had seen Char copying from other cadets. "Thought you might like legal copies," Garma said.

The last present was obviously a hardcover book. Char carefully pulled off the wrapping paper and swallowed deeply.

The silver dust jacket showed his father in profile and the title simply read, _Contolism._

"I remember this book," Char murmured, frowning.

"I should hope so! Your ratty old paperback is always by your side."

"I mean this edition." Char opened to the publication information. "Yes, first edition. This is from Earth! How did you get it?"

Garma made a "guh" face at him. "I'm GARMA! No, seriously, my brother Giren directed me to it when I asked. He knows every used book dealer in the city I think, and he was a friend of Deykun's. His edition is actually autographed, made out to Giren and everything."

Char nodded. "These are great presents, Garma. Thanks." He leaned over and kissed him.

Garma's response wasn't what Char expected, based on the warmth of their pre-holiday farewell. He kissed Char back, but Char had been ready for Garma to take a mile from the proferred inch. He didn't. Garma's returned kiss was polite but not hungry or overly passionate.

"My pleasure," Garma responded when the pulled apart. "Furthermore, I'm taking you to dinner. Italian good?"

"Italian's great."

By the time they returned from dinner, Char was more relaxed than he'd ever thought he could be in the presence of a Zabi. True, he was comfortable enough at the Academy, but at the Academy Garma wasn't really a Zabi so much as just his roommate and battle buddy, a fellow inmate in a total institution.

What was amazing was that in private Garma still managed to not let the letters HRH in front of his name make that much of a difference. He was still funny, still bright and creative and still his school chum. Char hadn't expected that.

Still, he reminded himself as they got into the elevator up to Garma's apartment again, he needed to lock in Garma's loyalty. The kisses they'd shared confirmed for him how he could most easily obtain that, and Garma was openly handing him the opportunity. Time to make the move. He reached out and took Garma's gloved hand in his own. Garma smiled at him shyly.

Back in the living room, Garma poured the scotch and they settled down onto the couch with some music playing. As he clinked his glass against Char's he wondered if he was coming across as desperate. That this was partially an attempt at seduction could not have evaded Char.

After they'd both had half a glass or so, Garma leaned back against Char's chest. To his surprise and delight, Char slipped his free arm around his waist. Garma placed his hand on Char's. "This is nice." Garma said.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Well, they always say that friendships made at the Academy are the most meaningful we'll ever have."

"Mm-hm." Char turned his head to look into Garma's eyes and leaned in for another kiss.

This one was much more what he was hoping for. Garma's mouth was warm and sweet from the liquor he'd been drinking. Char put his drink on the coffee table and likewise relieved Garma of his, then reached up to bury one hand in Garma's hair, pulling him closer. They shifted so that they were lying on their sides, pressed full-length against each other.

Garma's emotions were a clash of desire and discipline. Even though his body was reacting along with the hormones surging through his bloodstream, he couldn't stop hearing Giren's admonitions in his mind. _To the public, it's important that we give the impression we don't have bodies underneath our uniforms._

Giren had lovers though. That was no secret. Garma wasn't sure how his older brother reconciled the two, but if he could do it...

When they separated to catch their breaths, Char observed, "This is a side of you I've never seen before."

"It's new to me too," Garma told him.

Char looked surprised. "Really?"

"Seriously." Garma glanced to the side for the moment, embarrassed. "I'm a virgin."

"First time with a guy?"

"With anybody."

"You said you'd had a girlfriend!"

"We never got past the light petting. It just wasn't something I wanted to talk about because, well, that's private. Especially when you're in my position." He raised a hand to stroke Char's cheek. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

Char obeyed. Garma's eyes were closed in bliss and Char could feel the hardness of his arousal against his thigh. Char reached out and lay a hand against it, eliciting a sudden moan from Garma. The time for teasing him was over. One orgasm and he'd be Char's property forever.

Char stood up suddenly. Garma looked surprised and hurt until he saw that Char was extending a hand down to him. He took it and Char led him quickly to the bedroom.

Garma was relieved and frightened, both longing for physical release and fearing being so vulnerable in front of another person. Char seemed to be in control of the situation though, steering Garma down onto the bed and undressing him as if he did this every day. Then again, he sort of did, Garma thought to himself with a nervous giggle as Char nuzzled his neck. He undressed himself every day, so there had to be less challenge in getting off the clothing of the same sex.

"Get under the covers," Char ordered.

Garma did, sliding under the chilly sheets as Char removed his own clothing. He'd seen Char naked before of course, but this was the first time he was allowed to really look at him. He was gorgeous, all pale skin and soft blond hair, with accents of ruddiness at nipples and genitals.

Char slid under the covers with him and rolled on top. As they kissed again, Garma at first figured he should let Char take the lead, then realized that Char had never mentioned ever having bedded a man before.

"Char?"

"Yes?"

"Have _you_ ever been with a guy before this?"

"No. Does it matter?"

"Do you know what to do, cause—"

Char silenced him with a kiss. He rolled off Garma and spooned against Garma's back, his left hand sliding down the prince's torso while the other twined in his hair.

"Oh my," Garma gasped huskily, closing his eyes. Char grinned predatorily and started stroking, squeezing, massaging. Garma's back arched slightly and he reached back to sink his fingers into the muscles of Char's upper arms.

"Not so tight, Garma." Char leaned down and brushed his lips over the back of his friend's neck. "You're making it hard to work."

"Sorry," Garma breathed, and he turned his head for a kiss. It was perhaps a minute before Garma's whole body stiffened and he let out an unrestrained moan as he climaxed. The moan subsided into soft whimpers as Garma relaxed and opened his eyes. Char slowly pulled his hands away and drew a seemingly boneless Garma into his embrace.

"That was great," Garma sighed.

"Happy Christmas. Don't ever tell anyone I never gave you anything."

They lay together like that for a while before Garma put his hands against Char's chest and pushed up gently.

"Your turn," he said to Char.

Char obligingly rolled off. Garma crouched beside him on the mattress.

"I'll admit I was doing some research," Garma told him, adjusting the way he was kneeling and kissing Char's stomach.

"So you did have this all planned out! You little devil."

Garma shrugged. "I didn't know if I'd get a chance to use the research, but I wanted to be ready if I did." He began to demonstrate.

Except for one time when he winced and had to say, "Ow! No teeth," Garma turned out to not be at all bad. It was obvious, Char thought to himself as he twined his fingers into Garma's hair, pushing his head down farther, that this hadn't been off Garma's mind since they'd parted for the holidays.

Even though it felt good, no different really from any other such attention Char had received in his life, every time Char opened his eyes, he found he rapidly had to close them again and picture the last woman he'd been with back in France in order to make sure he stayed hard.

Thinking of France made him think of his Uncle Jinba, which reminded him quickly of why he was here. Destruction of the Zabis. Humiliation of Degin Zabi before he did it.

And here he was, right in the heart of Zabi house, being sexually serviced by Degin's youngest son.

The orgasm tore through him like an explosion and he clawed at Garma's neck and back with his hands as his body convulsed. When he finally managed to collect his scrambled thoughts, Garma was in the bathroom, rinsing his mouth out. He returned and bounced onto the bed beside Char. His kiss tasted of mint flavoured mouthwash.

"You are too cute," Char observed wryly.

"Am I? Did I do a good job though?"

Char smiled and pulled Garma against him. "Think I'll keep you."

As they remained snuggled together, Garma reached up and entwined Char's hair in his fingers. Char found the gesture unsettlingly possessive but knew better than to pull away.

Char could tell Garma was starting to doze when the bedside phone rang. Char didn't expect Garma to show any interest in taking the call but when he saw the number on the display screen, he did.

"Monty! What is going on? No, nothing much." He grinned slyly at Char. "You're what? You asshole, it's Christmas. Oh, right, I forgot about that. Well I'm sure I am rusty but I could play those in my sleep, just don't fuck me with new material. Yeah I can make it by then. Oho, the truth comes out, you don't need a bass player, you need my mixing board. Oh, you do need a bass player. Monty, what's up with you and your bass players and their drug problems? You gotta start doing piss tests at the auditions. No, don't worry about it, I'll be there. Cuckoo's Nest, 2100. Later." He hung up the phone.

"We going somewhere?" Char asked.

"Fucking shine addicts." Garma swung his feet to the floor.

"You have to bail someone out?"

"Yeah, my old band. Monty's got a bad habit of taking on bass players who are drug addicts. If they're addicted to hype, they die. If they're addicted to shine they get arrested. That's how I joined the band; someone handed them my business card and told them to call me. I was with the Asocials a couple of years and did two records with them. Well, their latest and greatest just got picked up by the ZCPD so I need to stand in for him at the 'Lump Of Coal' show." He stood and went to the walk-in closet.

"Do I factor into any of this?"

"Yeah, you're coming with me so we have to both get showered and dressed. They need to borrow some of my equipment too."

They showered together to save time. Char didn't think Garma would be able to stay businesslike about it, but he did. Garma dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved hooded shirt over a long-sleeved t-shirt. Char started to dress in slacks, a button-down and a sweater but Garma nixed the idea and loaned him a similar long-sleeved t-shirt and a thermal to wear with jeans. Char thought he looked awful, but if that was the appropriate outfit, that was the appropriate outfit.

Within half an hour they were loading the mixing board and Garma's bass guitar into the trunk of a car. "It always cracks me up to drive a government car to a punk show," Garma said as he steered down the quieting Zum City streets.

"I've never been to one."

"It'll be an experience for you all right. I'll install you over by the sound guy; you'll be safe over there."

"Safe? It's a concert."

"It's a punk show. There's a risk factor. You'll understand once it gets going."

"Okay. How are you going to explain me to your friends?"

"As my friend and roommate, if you don't mind. We Zabis don't have a lot of privacy. The fact that you're a guy makes it easy to keep our relationship private. I figure as long as we don't start making out in public, people aren't going to suspect you're anything but my school chum." He glanced over at his passenger. "That okay with you?"

"I'm not offended. Last thing I want is to find myself in some Zum City gossip column."

"Then we're in perfect agreement." Garma pulled the car into a parking space in front of a blocky one-story building whose only distinguishing feature was a neon figure of a yellow bird in a nest with two orange birds.

Inside, a dark vestibule with a coat check opened into a large square room, one side of which was a bar. The cement floor was mildly sticky and the whole place smelled of spilled beer. Garma headed over to the bar to meet two unkempt-looking individuals who were standing there with brown bottles in their hands.

"Char, these are my bandmates, Kearny and Clairemont Mesa. Kearny's the drummer and Monty's the guitar player. Kearny, Monty, this is Char. He's my roommate at the Academy and he's staying with me over winter break."

Char shook their hands. This was definitely not his scene.

For most of the evening, Char was bored. Garma got him a chair from backstage and put it next to the sound tech's station. Char bought himself a scotch on the rocks and watched the eccentrically-dressed crowd trail in. When the music started, he was at first confused because it wasn't Garma's band. Furthermore, the music was to his ears as melodious as a jackhammer and his heart sank when he realized that the Asocials were the fourth and last band to go onstage. Before that he had to endure Glandular Kimchee, Dried Fuck and Gordo and the Radioactive Enchiladas, fresh from their latest appearance in the kosher food aisle at a suburban Zum City supermarket.

Around 1 a.m. the Asocials did take the stage. They were a power trio apparently, just one guitar, one bass and a drum kit. For all that they were smaller than the other groups who'd been on before, they made just as much noise and the audience slammed into each other just as enthusiastically.

Char studied Garma's stage persona. Monty was the lead singer as well as guitarist and as such seemed to get most of the attention. Garma hung to the rear with drummer Kearny, providing the bass and occasional backup vocals. He wasn't flashy or prominent and another factor contributed towards Garma making less and less sense to Char.

"That was interesting," Char commented as they drove home a couple of hours later.

"By interesting do you mean unpleasant or do you mean interesting for real?"

"Yes. I don't think I've ever seen hand to hand combat elevated to a dance form."

"That's why I stuck you there with the sound guy. It can be kind of intimidating to be in the pit for the first time. What'd you think of the music?"

"Loud. Otherwise I didn't know what to make of it. I think I'll excuse myself from any more of these, if it's okay with you."

Garma looked disappointed but he reached out and squeezed Char's hand. "It's okay."

Once home, Garma stripped off his sweaty clothes and hosed down in the shower. He returned to find Char already in bed. Garma smiled at him and sat down in his bathrobe at his computer desk to write an e-mail.

"I usually have breakfast with my dad, but he knows the day after a show I'll sleep late," Garma explained. Char saw him hit "send". Garma stood and slid off the robe, draping it over the foot of the bed before turning off the light and climbing under the covers to snuggle his naked body against Char's.

"Tomorrow I'll introduce you to my third favourite thing," he told Char.

"Your first and second are sex with me and what else?"

Garma snorted. "My first favourite thing is music. Honestly, if I had a choice between sex and music, music would win out. "

"Really."

"Really. Sleeping with you's become my next favourite thing though, you're right."

"I don't know how I feel about that."

"If you were a musician you would. My next favourite thing is my horse, Katyusha. Even when I'm here I hardly get to ride her and I haven't seen her yet this vacation. We'll do that tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I'm really tired," Garma said, his voice fading. "G'night Char."

"G'night, Garma."

They kissed goodnight and Char thought Garma was asleep while their lips were still touching. Char glanced over Garma's shoulder at the clock. After 4 a.m. He lay back down and arranged the pillow under his head. Nothing to do now but sleep.

_I've made it into the belly of the beast, Uncle Jinba, _he thought to himself. Now, how would he proceed from here?

Char fell asleep before he could think about it much more. Later, he'd be disgusted with himself for having drifted off so easily, realizing it meant he felt safe lying beside Garma Zabi.

He woke up when some part of his brain alerted him to the fact that there was daylight in the room. Char sat up and found that the amount of light was minimal, a bright frame around a blackout curtain. He could hear music playing faintly from down the hall. A glance at the clock revealed that it was a few minutes after eleven so he got up, helped himself to Garma's bathrobe and went down the hall.

Garma was in the music room, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, playing the piano. The piece sounded contemporary and as if Garma were truly playing just for fun as opposed to practice for a recital or something similar.

Char let him play for a few minutes before asking, "Is there any coffee?"

Garma stopped playing but didn't seem startled. "I made a full pot. It's keeping hot in the carafe on the counter."

Char found the white plastic carafe immediately. Garma came up beside him and showed him where the mugs were. "Want me to make you something?"

"Do you have cereal?"

"Tall cupboard beside the refrigerator. Sure you don't want anything else?"

Char looked at him. "If you want to make bacon and eggs, I won't say no."

Garma frowned. "You ate every meal with me for six months and didn't notice I'm a vegetarian?"

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Char had really never paid much attention to what Garma ate, and Garma hadn't said anything about it in Char's earshot. _Wait, I can turn that in my favour._ "You know, I didn't. A lot of vegetarians get almost religious about it. I dated a girl once who wouldn't let me forget she was vegetarian. You're not like that so no, I didn't notice."

Garma nodded. "I don't believe in censoring other peoples' food choices. Guess I'm doing a good job of practicing what I preach."

Char opened the cabinet and found a box of something called Honey-O's that looked sugary and had a picture of the superhero Captain Zeon on it. Garma walked around the counter that divided the galley kitchen from the living room and sat on one of the bar stools on the other side. He picked up a piece of fruit from a bowl and fiddled with it as if trying to decide if he wanted to eat it.

Char looked up at him, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. "You okay? You seem mad about something."

Garma replaced the fruit in the bowl. "No, I'm not sure how I'm feeling. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be acting. This has never happened to me before."

Char shrugged. "That's the advantage of just putting your pants on and leaving right after sex. You get off, you get out, life goes back to normal."

Garma glowered. "Is that how you would have preferred it?"

"You're the one being passive-aggressive, my good man, not me."

Garma slumped. "Like I said, I don't know what I'm feeling. This changes everything and yes I wanted it and yes I asked for it but now I have to think about what I've done. It changes everything between us, and now I have to keep a secret from my dad and my friends and I've never kept secrets from my dad before."

Char swallowed some coffee the wrong way and started coughing. "You're keeping me a secret from your dad? Why?"

"It was something I was thinking about over Christmas. My brother Giren has a lover, his girlfriend Cecilia. Since Giren's technically married, my dad does not approve of the relationship. However, as long as Giren doesn't talk about it or act in front of my dad as if she's his lover, my dad is able to pretend she isn't.

"My brother Saslo was married to his high school sweetheart, who was a guy. My father didn't like that, but Saslo pressed the issue constantly which led to a lot of bad scenes and heartache. Now, in my opinion and the opinion of everyone in the family except Dad, Saslo was in the right. But I don't want to stir that kind of hornet's nest up with Dad just yet."

Char refilled his coffee. "You don't bring most of your friends to meet your father?"

"Not usually, because it tends to make us all uncomfortable. A few of my friends know him, but most don't. Your being here and not meeting him won't be all that strange."

"Okay."

"Doesn't mean I like it though. Dad and I have always been close. You almost done?"

"I just want to finish this cup of coffee."

"Okay, do that and we'll go ride some horses."

The stables were actually not in the Zabi House/Zum Tower complex but a few blocks away in a wooded green that was surrounded by barbed wire fences and patrolled by Zeon soldiers and Zum City police. "We share this compound with the police stables," Garma explained as they approached a two-story concrete barn. They passed through a brightly-lit tack room where a groom was oiling a saddle into the main body of the stables themselves. Most of the stalls were empty. Garma looked into them and then waved down another groom from the other door at the end.

"Good morning, Your Highness!" the groom called out. She was in her late teens, her hair in two braids under her riding cap.

"Hi, Jessica. I'm looking for Nebraska, and Katyusha of course."

"She'll be glad to see you. She's actually been letting me ride her, so she must be bored."

"Well, you'll be able to look forward to her throwing you again after this."

Jessica grinned. "She can try. I'll be right back."

Garma came back to Char and started talking about the horses, and which Zabi rode which horse and in what parade or ceremony. Char wasn't listening. He'd been counting on getting close to Degin Zabi this week and now it was clear Garma wasn't going to let that happen. Dammit! Jinba Ral would not be pleased.

Jessica returned, leading two horses. One was a red mare with a blonde mane and tail who took high, prancing steps as she walked. The other was a large grey horse whose personality seemed the polar opposite. Garma took the reins of the mare and led her into the barn, followed by Jessica with the grey.

The red horse was rubbing her head enthusiastically against Garma's sweatshirt as Char walked in. "That must be Katyusha."

Garma reached into his pocket and pulled out a chunk of carrot. The horse's lips closed around it and she munched greedily. "Yup, this is my girl." He pointed to the stall on the other side. "That's Nebraska. You'll be riding him because if he were any mellower he'd be dead. He's smart though; he'll take good care of you. Unlike Katy here who's fun to ride but dumb as a fucking fencepost. Jessica, could you help Char saddle up?"

Jessica's eyes gave Char a once-over. "Of course I can, sir."

Char saw Garma grit his teeth momentarily and he thought Garma was going to tell Jessica that he'd changed his mind. Garma obviously thought better of it and turned towards his own horse, sliding off her halter and reaching for her bridle.

After Garma had given Char a quick briefing on verbal commands, the two started out into the forested park area. Char rapidly decided he had the better mount when he saw how plainly nervous Katyusha was, finalizing this decision when the red mare decided to snap at Nebraska for no apparent reason and Nebraska responded by turning his back to her and giving her hindquarters a hard rap with one back hoof. She squealed and reared a bit, causing Garma to have to soothe her with pats and baby talk, while Nebraska walked away calmly with a derisive snort.

Although he'd only been on horseback for five minutes, Char tapped his heels to the big grey's sides and said, "Trot."

Nebraska happily obliged and Char went on his bone-jarring way as Garma continued to comfort Katyusha, who had now dug in her heels and was refusing to move.

Char had no idea where he was going, so he let Nebraska pick the route and stood in his saddle to keep his teeth from banging together. He only had vague recollections of the Zum City of his early childhood and no idea if this park had been there or not. He looked up, and it was strange to see the suspended lights and mirrors in an array two kilometers overhead, running down the centre of the colony with another part of the city overhead. Still, he felt as if he were outdoors on Earth. Even at the Academy he'd never thought about it much before.

At that moment, Katyusha came jogging up beside him, a breathless but cheerful Garma still in the saddle. "I was watching you ride, Char. You're a natural!"

"Nebraska here is very accommodating," Char said, patting the grey's neck. "What's her excuse?"

Garma backed Katyusha up and put her through a few dressage moves. "I just like a more challenging ride, is all. Follow me, there's a ring out here too. I want to put her through a few jumps."

Jumps were clearly Katyusha's forte, and the skittish horse was completely focused when presented with a fence. Char tried taking Nebraska over a few very low jumps and Nebraska was happy to oblige, earning Char more admiring comments from Garma.

The two cadets had gotten a late start, and with the colony's lights on a winter schedule they were already dimming quickly. They rode back to the stable and Garma handed Char some grooming tools, showing him how to remove the horses' tack and maintain both animal and equipment.

As Garma returned from the tack room, Char grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty stall, shoving him against the high wooden wall and crushing Garma's lips against his. Garma reacted swiftly as he always did, hugging Char tightly in return, closing his eyes in bliss.

There were, Char found out a few minutes later, reasons for going up to the hayloft other than feeding horses.

In the next six days, Char and Garma fell into a routine quickly. Since Char slept in, Garma would go down the hall to have breakfast with his father. Char would wake up and have breakfast on his own, after which the pair would find something to do in town, usually staying out and having dinner in a restaurant together. Staying in the apartment in bed was tempting, and they occasionally indulged. Still, with the new semester at the Academy starting shortly after New Year's the pair knew they should enjoy the freedom to do whatever they wanted wherever they wanted while they could. Char was perfectly happy being what amounted to a kept man, being wined and dined and shopped for and Garma was over the moon with having the opportunity.

"Your dad won't notice?" Char asked as Garma swiped his credit card again in the box office of a concert hall.

"He'll notice, but he won't mind. He's used to me blowing a lot of money on my friends as long as I'm careful they don't take advantage of me. And face it," he added with a lascivious wink, "you pay your way."

"Ass, grass or gas," Char said, using a saying he'd heard one of their classmates using. He wasn't sure precisely what it referenced, beyond paying with sex or fuel. He had never wanted to ask about the "grass" part out of fear of looking provincial.

The last day of 0077 dawned clear and cold, Zum City's artificial climate simulating the seasons in the northeastern North America. They paid another visit to the stables, where Nebraska and Char were now comfortable running a race against, and losing to, Katyusha and Garma.

"What plans do we have for tonight?" Char asked later on as they once again lay snuggled in a horse blanket in the hayloft.

"Kearny and Monty are having a New Year's Eve party at their place."

Char cringed mentally. "Sounds noisy."

"It will be. Come on, Char, you grew up in France and you never went to any crazy Europarties in Paris?"

"I have never set foot in Paris in my life. I grew up in Lyon, with Roman ruins and a genteel upbringing." _And no friends or close acquaintances outside our household._

"Well then you have lost time to make up for, Char!"

"Ah, you Catholic school boys."

"Catholic school boys are all violent and Catholic school girls are all sluts. Unless they want to be priests and nuns already." He looked at his watch and reached for his pants. "I need to hit a liquor store before we go. Maybe several liquor stores. Then pizza for dinner to absorb alcohol."

They had driven to the stables this time so that Garma could fill the trunk with bottles. They returned back to the apartment for showers and pizzas sent up from the palace kitchen, then a duty driver took them out to the Mesa brothers' house.

Garma was surprised that Degin allowed Garma in this part of town, but reasoned quickly the Degin probably didn't know. While better off than a lower-class neighbourhood in many places on Earth, the area was clearly one of rented houses and far-off absentee landlords. It was near one end of the colony and less than a kilometer away the landscape became a granite mountain climbing steeply up to the entry of the intra-colony shuttle terminal. Directly below the shuttle terminal was the bus and car rental terminal, accessed from a funicular joining the two. The pedestrian, bus and car traffic was constant a block away from the house and Char imagined that the rent here was cheap, attracting tenants accordingly.

The front door of the one-story house was unlocked. Garma opened it with the hand carrying the lighter load of liquor store bags and headed in to the cluttered living room.

"Hey, Garma, Char! Happy New Year, guys!" a blonde girl Char didn't recognize exclaimed.

"Hi, Chula! Help us get these all into the bathroom, could you?"

Char looked around as they went down the hall. The living room had an assortment of old living room chairs and no sofa. They were arranged around an out of date television on which a number of partygoers of both sexes were playing and watching a video game. Music was playing from some speakers hanging precariously from the ceiling. The carpet was worn and stained. He followed Garma and Chula to the bathroom, which sported a cat's litter box in one corner and litter all over the floor. The bathtub was full of ice, studded with bottles of alcohol of all descriptions. The sink was covered in soap scum and beard shavings.

"Char, this is Chula Vista. She and her sister Linda date the Mesa brothers."

"Pleased to meet you," Char said dully. If this was how "normal" people his age had fun, he didn't think much of it.

"Put your coats in Monty's bedroom," she told them, opening the door. Monty again had a mishmash of different furniture styles, but the place seemed reasonably clean. They tossed their jackets onto a bed to be guarded by the two tabby cats who sat sphinxlike on the pillows.

Char and Garma got drinks and the next couple of hours were spent with Char hovering around Garma's elbow as Garma chatted to people. It was clear that Garma was trying to include Char in the conversations, but Char really had nothing to say.

They had migrated out into the backyard, where there was a picnic table and a grill set up in the unkempt grass and weeds. As Garma was talking to yet another person whose name Char had already forgotten, Chula came up to him again.

"So Char, Monty tells me you're Char's roommate at the Academy?"

"Yeah. Since the summer."

"You seemed a little alienated so I figure I'd talk to you. Want a burger?"

"Sure."

They went over to the grill and he got one. As he ate, he explained. "It's fine, it's just that I'm not from Zum City and I only met Garma in the summer."

"Where you from?"

He took a sip from his beer. "I was born in Zum City, but my parents died when I was six."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I was raised on Earth by relatives in Lyon, France. I came back to go to the Academy."

"Wow, for someone who spent most of his life on Earth, you really have an attachment to Zeon."

"More than you know," he told her.

Kearny came up to them. "Hey guys, we're going up the mountain above the transit stop so we can get a good view of the city when the clock strikes midnight."

"Kearny, everybody here's been drinking and you want to climb that slope?"

"Anybody too drunk has to stay here. Monty doesn't want to go up, so you and he can watch the true inebriates."

Char was about to give his regrets, but Garma grabbed his wrist. "Let's get our jackets, Char. This is gonna be fun."

Char had his doubts but dutifully put on his coat. It was getting chilly, so he added his lightweight gloves as well.

Garma was cheery, but Char thought it was due to being around his friends at a party where he was obviously comfortable rather than just booze. The eight or so people who left went down the street to where the last streetlights glared down on a chain link fence. Garma climbed it easily in his black Chuck Taylors but Char had a little more trouble in his nondescript black Oxfords. As soon as they were all over, Kearny led them around a three-meter boulder to where a set of stairs was cut into the rock.

"850 meters up," Kearny said. "Everybody stretch their quads."

They took a few minutes to do that, then started up the mountain.

"Why couldn't we just take the funicular?" Char asked.

"Because it's illegal to access the mountain from the upper platform," Garma told him. "Only way to do it is from the bottom."

The climb rapidly stopped being fun, even if Char was in magnificent shape. They frequently stopped to catch their breath, then kept going.

"We have to sneak up without being seen here," Kearny whispered as they reached the upper platform to the funicular and the entrance to the terminal.

They went up in small groups, timed in between groups of people leaving the terminal. That was regulated by the arrival of the shuttles, so it took a few five-minute intervals. When Char and Garma went, they left the cover of the rocks on either side of the staircase briefly as they crossed an end of the platform that was behind a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. There was a locked gate in the fence, presumably so that a security guard could get through and chase people doing precisely what they were doing. Then they were behind the stone wall again, going up another few dozen meters to a platform cut into the rock. The staircase continued up, but this was the intended destination.

"There she is," Kearny said, waving a hand at the view.

The entire city was spread out in front of them, and Char thought the only way to describe it would be like looking at an illuminated map that had been rolled into a tube. The grid of lights and streets curved upwards on either side of them with more directly overhead. Char suddenly felt queasy.

"Do people get sick looking at that?" he asked.

"Some people do get vertigo from it," Garma said. "Not just people from Earth, people from the open colonies too, because they're used to seeing sky overhead, not more city. Course, we've both been drinking."

"I've only had a couple of beers."

"In that case, you'll probably get used to it in time. Could I point out one thing you should focus on?"

He turned Char to the right and pointed. "See that tallest building with the red illuminated cube on top? That's the National Bank of Zeon, and when we get to a minute to midnight, it'll start counting down the seconds. That's why we came up here."

Garma's friends were all enjoying the view while Char breathed slowly, trying to overcome the nausea that washed over him whenever he looked at the very, very wrong landscape in front of him. Garma stood beside him, not touching him but still within reach if necessary.

"It started counting!" one of the partiers announced.

Char looked up. The red glowing cube on top of the bank tower now had white numbers inside, counting back from 60.

"5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The group of partiers started the usual round of hugs and kisses. Garma turned away from Char, much to Char's surprise, and cheerfully joined in. A couple of the guys came up to Char to shake his hand and he received some boozy kisses from the girls. He was nonetheless dismayed until Garma returned to him, bright-eyed and slightly breathless.

"I was saving the best for last," he explained softly.

"I was starting to feel betrayed," Char told him, smiling. Then he pulled his friend into his arms and kissed him the way those females wished they could. Garma melted against him, burying his fingers in Char's hair, his other arm wrapped around his ribcage as if for dear life.

The rest of the night slid by anticlimactically. They went back to the Mesa brothers' house where they drank more and the Asocials played a couple of numbers that sounded horrible so they stopped.

Char and Garma were back at the apartment as the morning light was brightening. Char spent the first morning of U.C. 0078 wondering how to keep his mission on track now that he was wishing Garma was the son of some man, any man, other than Degin Zabi.

…To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5

_January 3, 0078_

_I just saw Char off in a car service limo. He wanted to sneak out to the bus station to catch the Academy bus as usual. I wouldn't hear of it. Really if I had my way I'd have him with me in the car with Dad, but we all know that's not possible. _

_That will change after the war that's coming. _ _Dad never denies me when I ask for things that are reasonable, but a male partner isn't reasonable in his world. Saslo and John found that out. But I don't think that Dad would boycott the love between two war heroes. _

Garma rode in his father's limousine as usual. Both he and Degin were more relaxed, as both of them knew that Garma's treatment would be improving. Even if things did turn out to be just as bad and full of mind games as in the last semester, Garma knew that he'd be reunited with Char within the hour, and for that he could put up with anything. The cadre could smoke them all night long for all he cared.

From the moment he arrived back at the barracks, it was clear that things had changed. There was a whiteboard for notifications in the vestibule and today it bore the message, "Recall formation 1600. Uniform: Daily Greys."

_No change into battle dress_? Garma thought to himself. Not that he minded for a second, but it seemed early for this leniency, usually one granted to third and fourth year students, to occur.

Char had already unpacked and set up his side of the room. Garma dropped his own duffle on the floor and started sorting the contents on top of his bare mattress. As they'd planned the night before, Garma greeted him conversationally, with nothing in his tone to suggest they'd been making love a mere ten hours ago.

"Hi, Char. How did your break turn out?"

"Pretty good. I stayed with some friends after we had dinner."

"Friends? You?"

Char was about to shoot back a retort when Anavel Gato poked his head into their door, which was ajar. "As you were. Cadet Zabi, I need to speak to you."

"Cadet Gato, hello."

Gato's eyes flicked quickly to Char. "I'm actually still Cadet Cadre. All of us are. We were asked to keep on doing it until we graduated. Could we talk in the senior common room?" He was hanging back self-consciously and Char turned away, acting as if he hadn't noticed.

Garma murmured agreement and the two exited. Char turned again to watch as they left. He was unsettled by how nervous Gato had been and the fact that the senior cadet had been wearing a green uniform with a petty officer's rank.

Garma immediately saw the same thing but held his questions until they were on the ground floor where the seniors lived. Their common room sported paneling that hid the cinderblock walls, a fake fireplace with historical bric-a-brac on the mantel, bookshelves with non-academic books, a television and other comforts of non-Academy life. Gato steered him to a table in a corner, taking the seat across from him."

"Want a soda?"

"Um, sure, thanks."

Gato fetched two cans out of a fridge across the room, depositing a dollar in a can on a counter beside it. He returned with the drinks and starting talking as he opened his.

"The curriculum has changed completely for your year," Gato said. "They're throwing all the non-essentials out the window. It's all going to be MOS-focused from here on out, which means mobile suit training all day, every day. The only classroom stuff will be directly related to mobile suits; navigation, related maths and sciences. You and I are going to have to work together, a lot."

Garma nodded and gestured at Gato's uniform. "I take it you spent the holidays working."

"Yes, unfortunately. Christmas morning I was flying—well, that's need-to-know. I'm betting you could find out if you wanted."

"Don't know if I do."

Gato looked blank for a moment. "You might not. Anyway, I can't wear a commissioned officer's rank until I graduate in May, so they made me a P.O. in the meantime." Gato ran a hand over the dark green gabardine of his tunic. "I still have to wear my greys here at school, so I'll be changing into them in a minute."

Garma took another sip of his soda and burped delicately. "So tell me about what we'll be doing."

Gato reached into a pocket and withdrew a small drive. "This is the Zaku syllabus we'll be using. I didn't design it, but I've gone over it and tweaked it so it's more practical. Over the holidays they also installed a room full of cockpit simulators so all of you can practice piloting at the same time rather than having a group lollygagging around when the others are using a limited number of suits. Read that tonight, get ahead of the game on your reading. It wouldn't hurt to get your roommate involved either. I've seen him working out in the gym and with his reflexes he's a natural."

Garma transferred the drive to his own pocket. "Good thing I got my education in high school, then."

"Where'd you go?"

"Mater Dei. You?"

"Concordia Prep. "

"Your football team sucks."

"Catholics always tear up the pitch better than Lutherans. Our basketball team, now..." Gato paused and looked at his watch. "I have to change. You'll be in the formation, not with the cadre, but we'll get started together day after tomorrow. It's all in there."

Back in their room, Char had finished making Garma's bed when Garma came in. "What'd Gato the Roboto want?" he asked cheerfully.

Garma sat on his desk chair, ignoring his duffles on the floor. "Things are going to be different this semester. Really different."

"Different worse?"

"Different as in different. Don't bother putting out your history or customs and courtesies texts, Char. We're not going to be needing them."

"What's going on?"

"We're going to be studying mobile suits and nothing but. I've got the syllabus right here."

Char fired up his computer and Garma put in the drive Gato had given him. They reviewed the syllabus in silence together.

"Well it's a good thing we don't have any more classes," Char said. "This is nothing but strategy, mechanics and piloting. Thing is, once we learn everything about flying Zakus, what's there to keep us from graduation?"

Garma's jaw was tight. "I was just wondering the same thing."

Reactions to the change in courses were mixed. Some cadets were relieved that the sports participation requirement hadn't been removed. Others were dismayed because the sports requirement would continue to take away from their study time. Some were pleased that they'd gone to an MOS-focused lesson plan. Others who weren't as strong in the technical areas had something to worry about.

"I see lots more dropouts ahead," Van Kamper said to Char after their recall formation had been dismissed.

"We've got the syllabus in our room. Come on up and we'll have a look at it together."

Soon after, Char and Garma had a small crowd of cadets in their room, huddled around Garma's computer. "That's it for me," Gerald said, standing up from where he'd been crouching and removing his uniform tunic. "I came here to get a university education as well as a career. If I can't get that, I'm out."

A cadet named Vieu Dang watched him leave. "Thinking of going with?" Van Kamper asked.

Her mouth twisted in thought. "I dunno. He's got a point but I really do like the idea of being a Zaku pilot. After I serve I can get a university degree whenever I want, right?"

"That's the spirit," Char told her. He'd always thought she had a nice butt and he'd miss the sight of it if she left.

Supper was at 1800, followed by the cadets dispersing to the first meeting of whatever sports team they belonged to. Garma and Char finally straggled into their room by 2000, still in their PT gear.

"Some of our TAs are on the fencing team," Garma told him as he pulled his toiletry bag out of his locker. "They gave me some pointers on what to expect."

"Follow me into the shower and tell me about it," Char said after taking off his sneakers and socks. He picked up his own toiletry kit and went into the bathroom. Garma perched on the toilet as Char stepped into the shower stall.

"We'll still have Gato as our main instructor for actual piloting because the MOS is so new that the current bunch of pilots, who were military already and re-classed, actually have no more experience than he does. "

"If they've got the same piloting experience as Gato, why don't they teach and not him?"

"Because he has to be here anyway, since he's in his last semester, and they don't have to give up piloting as the full-time job."

"Ah."

"I'm really glad I'm not him. His class is the last one graduating with that particular set of courses so he has to teach our class, which is three hours a day, in addition to keeping up his own GPA. Anyway, the rest of the courses are being taught by current Academy teaching staff, so we're going to still have Nevsky for mathematics and Dorion for physics. Thing is, they just decided this afternoon to change around some of the sciences to be one course. They're working on the details now."

"This is going to work out well," Char said from behind the shower curtain.

"You being sarcastic?

"Oh, just a little." Char turned off the water and Garma held his towel out to him. Char grabbed both it and Garma's hand, pulling him to the front of the stall. Char wrapped a wet arm around Garma's waist and kissed him. Garma put his hands on Char's chest and pushed him away.

"I want to, but we can't," he whispered.

"I know. I just had a chance, so I took it."

"This feels really strange, having to act like we did before Christmas. I've figured it out, though."

"Figured what out?"

"When they start telling me to come home on weekends to work, I'll have you come with me to help me study. It's crucial now. They can't just leave me out to learn all this without a buddy."

"You're right. That'd be setting you up for failure."

"The palace wouldn't permit that."

"No, I don't think they would."

The next morning began as usual with PT at 0600, breakfast at 0730, and they were on their way to the first class of the day at 0900. After marching into the mobile suit hangar they continued to the classroom where Gato handed out manuals made of stapled paper. They weren't digital because they'd be on a clipboard with a pen for taking notes.

"Last semester we learned all the parts of a mobile suit," he told them. Now we're going to actually start learning what we do with that mobile suit. The first thing you will do, on walking into that hangar with even the smallest intention of flying a Zaku, is to inspect it. If you look at page 2 of the handout you'll find the checklist for what you need to examine on your mobile suit before you get into the cockpit. In a few weeks, I'll be teaching you how to perform maintenance on the Zaku when you find things wrong when you inspect it."

A few rows behind him, Garma heard a male cadet whisper, "That's bull, since we have mechanics for that."

Gato's back stiffened.

Garma's fingertips went to his forehead. There went this morning's lecture, in a cloud of smoke as it were.

"Cadet Ubanda, did I just hear you say that was a mechanic's job?" Gato asked.

The cadet rose to his feet. "I was just saying, Cadet Cadre that we're not going to—"

"I heard what you said. I have excellent hearing. Front and center, Cadet."

Ubanda crept forward to the front of the room.

"Get down and push," Gato said without further ceremony. As soon as Ubanda was on the floor he continued, "Mechanics get busy. They sometimes make mistakes. Remember, they're going to have more machines to take care of besides yours, no matter how much of a special and unique butterfly you are. You as the pilot are ultimately responsible for making sure your machine is functional and ready to fly. Now, you'll develop your own method for conducting a pre-flight inspection, but right now, you'll follow mine. I like to start with the camera system, because if that doesn't work, you're not going anywhere. Obviously step one is to check the main camera, which is the mono-eye and Ubanda, I don't recall telling you to take a knee."

"Sorry, Cadet Cadre. My arms gave out."

"Then sit in the invisible chair that's against that wall over there. The mono-eye has two functions. One is that it's the mobile suit's main camera, giving you a view from the head. However, it's also an evil-looking red light that is intended to be the first thing the enemy sees as you come roaring out of the darkness. It's meant for intimidation, and it works. The suit is also covered with secondary cameras in the limbs so that you have a 365 degree view if you call up all the screens. It also means that if you're headless you can still get back to your base or ship.

"When you're doing the mono-eye inspection, you're on a hydraulic lift outside the suit. The next step of the inspection is the hatch, because you're going to open it and run a diagnostic from inside..."

After that class was lunch followed by going to the classroom for what was now referred to as "Tactical Sciences".

"You're right. This is going to end well," Garma said to Char. The class was an introductory course, but the syllabus was a confused jumble and it was clear that the instructors, who were all present for this, were not at all in agreement as to which of them would be teaching when. Dismayed, the Mobile Suit study group began by reading the first chapter of each text. They'd get to all three eventually, they reasoned, though with an edge of doubt.

The palace thoughtfully allowed Garma his first two weekends at the Academy without calling him off-campus for public appearances. Despite some new leniencies the first-year cadets still weren't allowed out of their company area, so they spent much of the weekends in the common room, studying. Char had to admit that even he felt a bit melancholy looking around at the few cadets who were left. From an entering class of fifty, they were now less than half that, sitting in the ugly industrial couches and chairs that they'd arranged in a circle. There were few enough of them now that almost everyone had their own Zaku simulator and they rotated being the odd ones out who had to pair up with someone else.

Space navigation was Garma's academic weakness. He'd done acceptably well in the requisite mathematics; musicians were usually adept at math. He excelled at the operation of a mobile suit. The courses on geography, geology and meteorology unnerved him and his fellow students, pointing as it did to the use to which their Zakus might be put in the future, but Garma was the best student in that class. Sitting up in bed reading the text one night, he realized that he was slowly becoming fascinated by Earth.

"Tell me about thunderstorms?" he asked Char one night.

Char looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"They sound interesting and I think I'd like to see one. Did you have them in France?"

Char nodded. "Some big ones. My sister was afraid of them." Char instantly regretted mentioning Sayla but went on. "Take the heaviest rain you find here on Side 3 and triple it. If they happen during the day, the sky goes dark grey, almost black. If they happen at night, you can't see a single star or the moon. Then you see the lightning, and there's pictures of that in the textbooks. A couple of seconds later you'll hear the thunder, which can be a rumble or a gigantic crack."

Garma looked at the photo of lightning that captivated him most. "A gigantic crack...almost as if a rock was thrown at the black glass of the firmament."

"Never talk science with an artist," Char snorted, and returned to his homework.

The third weekend, Garma was sent back to the palace to work. It was strange being in his apartment without Char. It had felt so homey with his lover there. Now it was too quiet and his bed too large. He opened up his texts and tried studying, but he missed his classmates. He struggled to concentrate for about an hour, then gave up and drove to Giren's, the weather being too chilly to ride his bike.

By the fourth, he knew it was time to take action. He requested a meeting with General Vanderwyck through his platoon leader and attended it with Vieu Dang as battle buddy.

"I know that you're in contact with the palace administration and my father," Garma said as he perched in "at attention" posture on a bare wooden chair in the general's office. "I wanted to talk to you because I need a study partner when I'm at the palace on the weekends."

"Go on, Cadet," Vanderwyck told him, leaning back comfortably in his expensive ergonomic desk chair.

"I leave the Academy around 1100 on Saturday. Sometimes I have a personal appearance. I have to cram my studying and homework into the rest of the day because on Sunday, I have breakfast and go to church with His Majesty, after which I always have something to do for the palace. The next chance I have to study is when I return to the Academy before dinner. " Garma resisted rubbing the palms of his hands against where they lay on his thighs. "

"Could a simple application of old-fashioned discipline be the solution?" Vanderwyck asked.

"I've tried that, sir. There's a great deal of material that can be memorized best through drills. It's not possible to observe yourself doing drills."

"You have three very adept siblings."

"I do, sir. Dozel would be the ideal person to help me if he were available. At the moment he's deployed, and will be for another month. Kishiria is the godmother of the Mobile Suit Corps, but she is not a mobile suit pilot and only has a general knowledge of how they function. Giren is probably the hardest worker of us all, and I couldn't ask him to learn what amounts to being a whole new discipline just to help his little brother with his homework."

"So what do you propose?"

"Sir, all I want to do is bring my roommate Cadet Aznable with me when I go to the palace on the weekends. He and I are in the top five percent of our class and we work well together. Neither of us have any disciplinary infractions and won't incur any if he goes with me to the palace on the weekend. Sir, I'm very much at a disadvantage because of my responsibilities as a member of the royal family. I am asking for help to level the playing field between myself and my fellow cadets."

"Am I detecting a spirit of competition between you and the other students in your class?"

Garma allowed himself a careful smile. "If we weren't competitive, we wouldn't be here at the Academy to begin with, sir."

Vanderwyck nodded, considering. "All right. You can take Cadet Aznable with you. That's not a license for the two of you to go out partying together. You're together so you can study, not goof off."

"Don't worry, sir," Garma told him, "I doubt if we'll even leave my apartment."

Saturday came and a limo came to pick up Garma as usual. Char climbed in after him and they talked about school and their subjects as they were driven into the city.

They took the elevator up to the residential floor. Garma unlocked the apartment. It looked the same as it had before and Char was struck by a sudden, unaccustomed feeling of nostalgia.

Garma hung his coat on the coat tree beside the front door and walked down the hall to drop his bag off in the bedroom. Char followed him. Once in the bedroom, Garma tackled Char onto the bed and kissed him with every bit of passion he'd been storing over the past few weeks. Within minutes they were both naked with Char pinning Garma beneath him on the mattress.

A few hours later, Garma was sitting up, leaning against a stack of pillows with Char in his arms. The prince's fingers were buried in his lover's blond hair.

"What do you have to do tomorrow?" Char asked.

"Romero Memorial Hospital. I won't be going to church with Dad, although I'll be having breakfast with him as usual. I'll go at the hospital chapel, followed by visiting patients. Kids like me in particular, so I'll be spending most of my time in the childrens' wards."

"It's because you're such a kid yourself."

Garma chuckled softly and squeezed Char in his embrace. He did feel particularly young when he compared himself to Char, even though Garma had grown up with sophistication. "Next week we get a field trip. I have to go to New Koenigsburg for _Fasching_, which is their take on Mardi Gras."

"That'll be fun."

"You'd think, except I hate going to NK because I always get sick there. So I'll be glad you're there for when I feel like a rat's ass."

"I'll be a very attentive nurse, I promise."

Garma sighed. "I suppose we should get studying." He kissed Char by way of punctuation, but that only led to them staying in bed for another hour.

The next morning, Char sat in bed wearing Garma's bathrobe and sipping a cup of coffee as Garma dressed in his Academy greys.

"You crack me up," Char said to him. "You just got up from another round of wild sex with me, took a shower and now you're off to breakfast with Daddy, church and visiting kids in the hospital."

Garma examined his first-year insignia in the mirror before taking a soft cloth and wiping a smudge away. He came over to Char and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "What's so funny about that?" he asked, taking Char's free hand in both of his. "I love you, Char, and I'm not doing anything wrong, so why should I be shamefaced about it, before God or anyone? I want to tell my dad, but I remember how wacko he got when Saslo came out. I'm going to postpone that conversation as long as I can. In the meantime, I can introduce you to him as a friend, if you want."

"When it's convenient. "

Garma's cell phone went off right then, and he took a moment to answer it. "My car's waiting. I'll see you this afternoon." He gave Char a quick kiss and was off.

Char spent the rest of the morning lying propped in bed with his notes and texts, keeping his cup of coffee full. With his body in comfort, his mind had few distractions to keep it from absorbing information. This morning he was concentrating on physics, with the point of the science being on space colonies, how they remained held stationary in space, with two articles on centrifugal forces, the colony cylinders and the amount of force that it would take to knock one of them out place. Such amounts of force could occur during mobile suit warfare, perhaps accidentally. Perhaps not. Char smirked to himself. His late father would have been horrified, but he couldn't help but think that a colony, taken out of its Lagrange point, could be put to all _sorts _of nefarious purposes.

After noon, he'd had something to eat, showered, and was in the living room when the landline phone rang. Char had no intent of answering it until Garma's voice came out of the speaker.

"Hey Char, if you want to see me on TV, turn on the ZBC news channel—"

Char picked up. "What channel is it?"

"Number 209. In about half an hour."

Char did so. He was regaled with sports scores for 20 minutes, then headlines, and then a two-minute segment about Garma at the hospital.

It was a nice childrens' hospital ward, as far as such places went. The ceiling was high, the walls were blue with clouds painted on them. There were plants and fountains. Garma looked completely at ease there, which Char knew he himself would not have been. The edited footage showed him sitting on patients' beds and talking to them, and in one shot holding a small girl on his lap and having some kind of baby-talk conversation with her.

The final few seconds had sound. Garma was sitting on the floor, playing a guitar and singing with the children surrounding him. Some were in wheelchairs. Char suddenly found himself becoming furious and turned the screen off.

_How dare he not be a monster? _ He found himself fuming silently.

He was there to kill the Zabis. He had to kill something hateful. He needed them to be hateful. Instead he'd made a friend who was a reliable roommate, a diligent study partner and a tender, attentive lover.

It wasn't fair.

_Dear Uncle:_

_Things are moving fast for me here at the Academy. Tomorrow, I'm the first in my class to drive a Zaku. I get this honour because I'm getting the highest grade in the class and also because my last name begins with an "A". Cadet Gato was torn between GPA and alphabet to arrange the order of our turns and I won the lottery on both. _

_My friendship with Garma Zabi remains increasingly close. I've actually stayed with him at the palace a few times. It's not as interesting as you'd hope; he's very resistant to having me meet his father and I haven't been introduced to anyone else in the Zabi family either. And you know how much I'd like to meet Degin Zabi! _

_Give my love to my sister._

"And now the moment you've all been waiting for," Anavel Gato said at the beginning of a Monday morning class. "Cadet Aznable, are you ready?"

Char stepped forward from behind Gato's lecture podium. Like the fourth-year cadet, he was wearing the normal suit that had been developed for the purpose of flying Zakus. The lecture the previous Friday had been on the wear and usage of the suit, and Gato had surprised them all by not only allowing but joining in the ribald jokes about the human waste disposal system. Char had to admit the suit was comfortable enough; Garma had assured him that it was.

"Ready, Cadet Cadre," Char said, although he wasn't completely sure.

"Then let's get going." Gato walked over to the lift platform that would take them to the cockpit. Char glanced over his shoulder to Garma, who mouthed the words _good luck_. Garma had wanted to be the instructor to take Char out in the Zaku for the first time, but Gato had been emphatic about being the one to do it.

"Follow me," Garma told the other cadets, and led them down a hall to the classroom where a large screen was set up. Garma sat up front and turned on the video link to the camera that was in the Zaku's cockpit. Char was settling into the pilot's seat while Gato took his place in the instructor's seat that was behind and above it. Char figured out the seat harness, then picked up and fastened his helmet to the collar of his normal suit while Gato did the same, only with the ease of long practice.

"**Okay, what's next, Aznable?" ** Gato asked, his voice audible through the video link.

"**Probably a good idea to see where I am," ** Char answered. He reached forward and pushed a button. The screens in the cockpit lit up, showing the hangar around him.

"**Good start. Now, what's next?"**

"**I put the engine on standby and wait for the amber light to turn green. And...there it goes. Next I take the throttle and put it forward—"**

This was the wrong answer, and Garma caught himself twisting a lock of his own hair nervously, waiting for Gato to react. Sure enough the senior cadet did, seizing Char's gloved wrist and yanking it away. **"Wrong and unsafe! Class, what should he do next?"**

"Ask permission from the tower," the cadets answered, more or less unanimously.

"**Correct. Aznable, you owe me 20, plus an apology to the ground crew for almost stepping on them. If we were launching from the ship, you'd ask the same thing and they'd engage the catapult for you."**

Char asked permission from the tower and received it. He looked to Gato, said something inaudible and Gato nodded. Char dropped a salute and pushed the throttle forward. In the classroom, the cadets heard the first _boom _of a massive foot coming down and felt the building shake. A crack appeared in the drywall, which Garma acknowledged offhandedly as one of the cadets pointed it out.

"This room's a jerry-rig," he said. "Don't worry, nothing that might fall is heavy enough to hurt you." His eyes were fixed on Char, noting the look of concentration on his face that almost looked like pain. Then again, he was in the cockpit with Gato, and that would terrify almost anyone.

In the cockpit, Char did his best to ignore the perspiration that he could feel beading on his forehead. His normal suit was too warm and he didn't have time to adjust it yet. Plus, he was nervous as hell and didn't want to let that be known. The main camera was the mono-eye of the Zaku, some six meters above him and he had to mentally adjust for that while glancing quickly at the screens at the sides which showed views from different points on the mobile suit's body.

"Situational awareness, just like when you're driving a car," Gato told him, almost soothingly.

"I've never driven, Cadet Cadre," Char muttered back.

"Really? That's lame of you. You're still doing all right, keep going."

The hangar walls ended and the suit was walking slowly forward across the turf. The view showed treetops and the Academy main buildings in the distance. The ride was much smoother than Char had expected; he'd been ready for far more of a rocking motion and knew that Gato carried Dramamine just in case.

"Take her to the left and walk parallel to the road leading back to campus. Don't knock over any trees."

Char did so, biting his lip as he made the small directional adjustments to avoid the trees. In the rearviews he could see the giant footsteps the Zaku left behind it.

"Step across the road and make a circuit around the campus."

Char felt the suit hesitate as he remembered the command for the mobile suit to momentarily extend its stride. As it raised the other foot he started to feel it lose balance, but Gato used his own set of controls for the save. "Note that move for practice in the simulator, Aznable. Continue around the Academy."

Back in the classroom, Garma knew he should be keeping up a running question and answer session with the other cadets, but he just couldn't. His gaze was fixed on his lover piloting the metal giant. He was doing reasonably well, but then, Garma hadn't expected anything else.

Back in the cockpit, Gato told Char, "There's a beat-up five-ton truck behind the hill ahead of you. I want you to pick it up."

Char guided the Zaku around the hill and saw the truck. It was one that they'd used during Beast Barracks as a target for shoulder-held grenade launchers. He brought the mobile suit to a halt and paused, trying to remember how to bend down.

"Panel on the lower left," someone said behind Garma. Garma turned and nodded.

"**Aznable, where's the control to bend the Zaku down?" ** Gato was asking.

In the cockpit, Char glanced around frantically, having momentarily blanked out on that. "Oh! It's this handle on the tertiary-movement panel and it slides downward—"

The top half of the mobile suit swung downward too fast, leaving Aznable and Gato hanging from their seat harnesses. "Dammit, Aznable! Forty more pushups when we get back, and I know you can do it because you won a contest. "

The cockpit rose up to a less severe angle. Char worked the panel to engage the arms, swing them forward and grasp the truck. He raised the Zaku upright again, then lifted the truck to the mono-eye.

The Zaku barely even registered the weight, lifting the truck as if it were the toy it resembled in its hands. Char emitted a short, choked laugh. This thing was so strong. He'd had some initial qualms about mobile suits really being the wave of the future, but any doubts he'd had were gone now. If he could command a small fleet of these machines, he could accomplish anything.

"Impressed, Aznable?" Gato asked, sounding amused.

"This is...this is _great!_" Char answered.

"Yes, I had that reaction myself. Just wait until you get one of these into space. Now, put the truck down and go back to the hangar. You still owe me sixty pushups, but otherwise, A minus for the day."

On the ground again, everyone noticed the grin on Char's face since Char Aznable usually never smiled that broadly. "Looks like you found out what the big deal is about mobile suits," Garma told him as Char headed back to the locker room.

"I never imagined it would be that amazing. It's like being a giant, or a god."

Garma patted him on the arm. "Welcome to the Corps."

The rest of the week had two-thirds of the other cadets taking their turns in the mobile suit. None of them got the sequence of commands completely right and all of them ended up with sore arms before lunch. Still, all of them had the same reaction that Char did, that driving the Zaku was one of the greatest experiences any of them had ever had.

Friday came and Garma and Char prepared to go to the palace for the weekend. Uncharacteristically, Garma took them out through the front gate, showing their passes to the gate guards to show they had permission. He led Char to a stand of public cars and had Char toss their bags into the back seat as Garma slid his money card.

"Why no house limo?" Char asked.

"Because I don't actually have any public appearances this weekend," Garma told him. "I do have a concert to play, and as always," he reached out to take Char's hand in his own, "I wanted my time alone with you."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"I know perfectly well what I'm doing. I'm being a rotten little shit of a spoiled brat. But I do it so seldom, I think I deserve it just once in a while."

Friday night was quiet. Garma made them dinner and they spent a couple of hours studying how to get the Zaku to execute the fine manual gestures that would allow it to use weapons. After that they went to bed for their usual private revels and did the same thing the next day until evening, when Garma got ready for a show at someone's private party.

"Are you sure you won't come with me, Char?" Garma stood plaintively at the front door of the apartment, clad in jeans, a t-shirt and a nondescript sweatshirt, guitar case in hand.

Char held his ground. "When you take up a musical style that doesn't involve your audience sending each other to the emergency room, I'll be there with bells on. I've heard you play piano, I know you're good, and I'd spend a whole night listening to you do that."

Garma smiled. "That sounds like a fair bargain." He walked over to Char to kiss him, then went out on his way.

Once the door was shut and locked, Char grinned. He really enjoyed these hours when he could be alone in the apartment, precisely because he was alone. Garma had his radio autotuned to a classical station, a rock station and a university station. Char turned on the classical station and poured himself a glass of scotch before fetching his school texts and electronic reader. He sank down into the couch and got cozy before starting to study. He remained like that for a good hour, lost in strategies for using a mobile suit to take out an artillery position, until an insistent knock came on the door.

Char froze, wondering what to do. He realized immediately that he had no choice but to answer it. He knew the light in the living room was visible around the cracks in the doorframe and whoever was standing outside would likely have heard the radio as well.

He went to the front door and opened it. His knees immediately threatened to buckle beneath him. Giren Zabi himself was standing in front of him. The oldest Zabi prince was clad in his usual midnight-blue uniform with a black topcoat over it. Char had never realized how tall Giren was, but the man was well over six feet. He leaned on his walking stick and studied the young man in front of him as if Char were something he was appraising for sale. "You must be Cadet Aznable."

Char's tongue was dry but he managed to respond, "Yes, sir." A moment later he went on, "Garma's not here. He went off to play a concert."

"You didn't go with him." It wasn't a question.

"No, sir. I don't necessarily share his taste in music."

"Even if Garma's playing?"

"No, sir."

Giren seemed about to say something, then saw something behind Char and pushed past him into the living room. He picked up the hardcover copy of _Contolism_ that lay on the coffee table and asked, "Is this yours?"

"Yes, sir."

"I contributed to this book, you know. I proofread it and compiled the index." He opened the front cover and Char realized to his horror that Garma had inscribed it. Char hadn't noticed that before and he felt his stomach cramp as he realized he had no idea what Garma had written there.

"So you're the person Garma had me procure this for. You must be quite the Deykun aficionado. It cost Garma a pretty penny, and he wouldn't have bought it for someone who wouldn't appreciate it."

"I am, sir. I've worn out two paperback editions."

Giren closed the book and laid it reverently on the coffee table. "He had some world-changing beliefs, did my old mentor. We disagreed in the significance of his theories, not to mention the implementation, but _quand même._ " He paused thoughtfully and added, "I miss him still. I'm not enamoured of the Contolists needless to say, but losing Zeon was like losing Kant, Descartes and Nietzsche over again."

Char felt as if he might faint. He sank down onto the couch. "Do you have a message to pass on to Garma?"

"I was going to invite him to a gallery opening. Just tell him I stopped by."

"I will, sir."

Giren continued to stand there until Char stood and opened the door for him. As soon as Giren was gone, Char made a beeline for the tumbler of scotch on the table, downing the expensive liquor as if it were a cheap vodka. It hit his stomach hard and he thought for a moment he might throw up, but didn't. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a soft drink as a chaser.

He'd always known that Giren Zabi was an assistant on _Contolism_; he was listed in the acknowledgements. He had not known that Giren actually admired Zeon Deykun. Char wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen how Giren handled the book and the expression on his face when he talked about it.

_Why, then?_ Char asked himself. _If my father meant so much to you, why did you have him murdered?_

The answer, of course, was obvious. _Even if Giren loved Father, he loved power more._

Shock had made Char forget one thing. Stunned as he was, he was able to pick up the book and open the front cover without feeling any more terror than he did already. He hadn't known about the inscription before now, and he held his breath as he read it.

_To Char Aznable: Thank you for being a friend our first year at the Academy. The friendships one makes there last forever, and you will never be forgotten. Yours, Garma Zabi._

He slumped back against the cushions. Garma had been wise and restrained in what he wrote, probably because he wasn't sure where his relationship stood with Char at the time he'd bought the book. He put it down and picked up the strategy text again. Somehow he managed to settle into a rhythm of study again.

It was after 2 a.m. when Garma came home. Char had been in bed for hours and he only woke up slightly when he heard the shower running. He came to fully when Garma slid into bed with a grunt of pain. Char turned on the bedside light.

"Holy—Garma, what happened to you?" He barely touched his fingertips to the dark bruises on Garma's right cheek.

"The bass player of the Enchiladas happened to me."

"The short, fat white kid with the shaved head?"

"Yeah, he's never liked me and he tackled me at the end of our set and threw me into the crowd. I hit the railing and they caught me, but I got pretty bashed up. You're right, Char. I can't subject a genteel guy from the French countryside to a scene like that." He smiled at him wryly.

"What does he have against you?" Char was just curious.

"He just...doesn't like me. I don't look for logic from him, he went to Servite after getting kicked out of Mater Dei. "

Char didn't feel like getting into a discussion of the rivalries between Zum City's private schools. "Your brother dropped by here."

"Which one?"

"Giren. He wanted to invite you to a gallery opening. He's a very scary man."

"Yeah, he cultivates that. I'm just used to him, I suppose. Pay him no mind."

"He didn't like the fact that I wasn't with you at your concert."

"Giren's been to a few. He just sticks by the bar and watches with his bodyguards. I think he likes the spectacle in the pit." He yawned and winced. "I'll let you go back to sleep. I'm beat." He kissed Char and lay down .

Char wasn't comforted. By mid-week he'd largely forgotten about the incident, but he was reminded abruptly of it that following Thursday.

He and Garma were walking from a classroom building to their barracks. The lights were dimming to "evening" and the air was chilly. Char liked this time of day since the glow of lights in the windows of the cadet rooms reminded him that he and his fellow cadets had gotten through another day, and that after dinner he could look forward to his room and the deceptive sense of security it provided.

Garma slowed as they walked along the opposite side of the street . "That's my brother's staff car," he said, gesturing with his chin towards the black towncar parked in what was normally a tow-away zone in front of the barracks. It conspicuously sported a flag on the driver's side that showed the Zeon crest surmounted by a crown, the symbol indicating a member of the Royal Family was using the transport.

Char's mouth dried out and his stomach cramped. He glanced over to Garma, who was smiling, clearly pleased at the idea of seeing one of his family. The driver was standing outside of it having a cigarette and he saluted Garma as he and Char walked past. The lobby was full of cadets and more were milling in the hallway, looking up the staircase. Anavel Gato had ventured all the way up to the first landing. Ignoring him, Garma and Char pushed their way through and up the stairs to their room.

Giren was lying on Garma's bed, still wrapped in his overcoat, eyes closed. He didn't open them as he observed, "These mattresses are a lot more comfortable than I would have expected. I had mental images of sharp springs on a wooden trestle, but this one has a decent ratio of firmness to resiliency. I still wouldn't want to make love on one." He opened his eyes, sat up, pointed to Char and said, "You. Out."

Garma nodded and Char, hoping that Garma was about to be chewed out for something that didn't involve him, left for the room across the hall.

Garma pulled out his desk chair and asked, "To what do I owe this visit?"

"General Van der Wyck gave me a look into your present grades. While you're doing well in mobile suit piloting and meteorology, you've been slipping in almost everything else. That's not at all like you. I thought something might be wrong, so I began looking for a cause." He leaned forward. "So tell me, how long have you and Cadet Aznable been sleeping together?"

Garma cringed. When he was sure that his heart was still beating he asked, "How did you know?"

"I didn't. You just told me." Giren leaned back, his expression stern.

"What's it to you?"

"To me, nothing in particular. As I just said, it's you I'm concerned for. You used to have good grades no matter what was going on in your life. I know you've been coming home on weekends when you don't have any official appearances scheduled, which means you've been lying to General Van der Wyck, and that is utterly unlike you.

"There was nothing on your schedule for this past weekend, but you came home anyway and that boy was in your apartment. Furthermore, he seemed unusually nervous around me. That's normal; I try very hard to be overwhelming, but he seemed to want to hide something from me. He didn't seem at all like a school chum just taking some time away from the confines of the Academy. Furthermore, he was the recipient of that first edition you had me buy in December, and I know how much that cost. All signs pointed to him being your lover, and you've just confirmed for me that he is.

"Now, you're an adult and you're entitled to get laid . However, and this is a very large however," Giren raised one forefinger in warning, "if it is interfering with your task, in this case being a high-performance cadet, your love life has to drop by the wayside."

"You've always been able to balance having a lover with your work. How do you do it?"

"I've learned how to through experience. As for my current relationship, which I intend to remain in permanently, Cecilia's goal in life is to help me achieve mine. She is intuitive and people-savvy to an extent I will never be, and I rely on that. An immense portion of my love for her comes from those facts. We also agree on the kind of home life we want, so we have built that for ourselves. Make no mistake though, there were many difficult and painful lessons along the way. "

Garma blinked. "So, I need to study more and have sex less. "

"Remember what I said about difficult and painful lessons. You do not need one right now, and that's the other thing I was going to talk you about. I like to consider myself a good judge of character, and if I fail, I know I have Cecilia to back me up. Cadet Aznable is not someone I want you to be involved with. I described my meeting with him to Cecilia and she agrees."

"Yes, but would Cecilia say she agreed even if she didn't?"

"I should hope not. I value her because she is not a yes-man. I can have them by the bushel, but when she thinks I'm making a mistake, she says so. I've seen his type before, though happily I've never permitted one into my life. I've looked at his Academy record and he looks like a drifter who's come into your life and is currently living off you. Granted, he must have some ambition given that he did make it into the Academy and he's doing what Dozel would call 'great things' here. So he may have found his way now, but you, my brother, are a truck stop along the freeway of his life, not the destination of the voyage."

"You don't know that." Garma's voice came out half as a squeak of outrage before he gained control again.

"Let me show you." Giren rose from his seat on the bunk and opened the front door. "Cadet Char Aznable!" he called out into the hall.

Char emerged from the room across the way, where he had been hiding out. "Sir?"

"Please join us in here."

Knowing in essence what this meeting would be about, Char went into the room. Garma was perched on one of the office chairs, looking frightened. Giren took Garma's shoulders and turned them so that Garma was facing away from Char. "Now, Cadet Aznable, what colour are my brother's eyes?"

"Sir?"

"It's an easy question. Answer it. Or would you prefer I ask you when his birthday is?"

Char felt his knees threaten to buckle because he wasn't completely sure about the first question and had no idea about the second. "His eyes are sort of hazel and I don't know his birthday. I think it's during the summer. I figured he'd start dropping hints when it was near."

Garma turned around at this point and Char realized, to his horror that not only were the prince's eyes brown, they were full of despair. "My birthday is March 4, Char. It's less than a month away."

Giren turned to his younger brother. "What if I asked those questions of you, about him?"

Garma looked Giren in the eye, deliberately avoiding Char's gaze. "His eyes are blue and his birthday is November 17."

Giren nodded. "A Scorpio. It just figures. Thank you, Aznable, now please get out of my sight."

As soon as Char left the room, Giren removed his PDA from the pocket of his coat and typed in a message. A few moments later, several Zeon Army privates were in the room, grabbing up everything the older Zabi prince pointed to and rushing them downstairs. "Follow me," Giren told Garma.

"These are the accommodations Dad wanted you to have from the start," Giren said as the privates carried Garma's things into a senior's room on the ground floor. "He and I agree for once that you'll be much better off down here."

Garma followed his things inside. The doors of the wall locker hung open and the whole place seemed as cold and barren as he felt.

"Garma, trust me. That boy is not good for you. I've seen his type before; the American actor James Dean set the standard in the 20th century. Charismatic drifter, sexy outlaw, all around bad news and proud of it. The only thing you can predict about men like him is that he'll take advantage of you and betray you when he's done. "

Garma thought back to the Christmas past, and how he'd lavished gifts on Char, who'd responded with gentle mocking and somewhat rough sex. Garma had enjoyed it at the time, but Giren's words raised an unsettling thought that had occurred to him and which he'd dismissed repeatedly. He loved Char, but the relationship did feel unequal, and not what Garma really thought being lovers should be like. "Maybe you're right."

"You've received nothing but love all your life, Garma. You expect your love to be reciprocated. Sadly that's not always true."

Garma nodded, still focused on the empty wall locker. "I have to do my homework."

"Excellent call. I've always found that immersing myself in my work is a good tactic after a breakup. Don't despair, little brother. It took me a long time to find my Cecilia, but find her I did. False starts are just part of the learning curve." Giren waited until the privates were on their way upstairs again before asking, "Would you like me to arrange an accident for Aznable?"

"No! God, no, Giren! I don't want you to hurt Char. I just want Char to have not hurt me."

Giren looked nonplussed. "I've always found arranging accidents to be therapeutic. To each their own, however."

"Hurt him and I'll know you did it."

"Little brother, I've taken your point."

Garma turned and wrapped his arms around Giren's rib cage, his face pressed into his brother's broad chest. Giren hugged him back. "Cecilia and I will expect you this weekend."

"I'll want tequila."

"Anything." Giren released him. "Call me if you need to talk."

Once he was alone, Garma examined the room. It was the same size as the one he'd shared with Char, except that the space occupied by the second bed and desk held a vinyl armchair, bookshelf and coffee table by the window. Through the blinds he could see green space and academic buildings.

He heard the bathroom door open and saw the light go on. Curious about who his suitemate was, he got up to look. He immediately encountered a familiar face.

"Gato! They moved me in beside you."

"They moved me in beside _you_, Your Highness. Tsai and I were told to switch rooms so we'd be next door to each other. Prince Dozel's orders."

_God, don't tell me everyone knows about me and Char._ "Did they tell you why?"

"All I was told is that he and Prince Giren felt you'd be better off living with me than living with Aznable, but since seniors don't have roommates, this was the arrangement. Apparently His Majesty wanted this setup for you from the start."

"I see."

"Well, I'll leave you alone to set up your room. You can have civilian bedding down here, and personalize the place as long as it's dust-free and neat. They do inspect every day while we're at class."

"Can I look at yours to see how you keep it?"

Gato showed the way. "Like I said, I just moved in, but you can get an idea."

The older cadet's room was identical. He'd already made the bed with a dark green quilted bedspread over it and a matching oval rug on the floor. His locker was half full and the armchair held the rest of his clothes. "I can work with this," Garma said.

Later that night, Garma lay in bed, listening to what was going around him on the floor. Unlike the enforced dead silence of the first-year floor, the senior floor was still active. He could hear talking in other rooms and someone playing a guitar. A guitar. Garma tugged on the rough green blanket under which he was sleeping. He hurt like hell inside, but if he could bring his guitar to school with him, survival seemed much more likely. He fell asleep a moment later.

Upstairs, Char wasn't sleeping since he was watching a second-year student who'd been busted for drinking set up his own bed and locker. Living with a first-year was a punishment. What a terrific feeling.

He buried his face in the pillow and resigned himself to being groggy the next day. Uncle Jinba would not be happy.


	6. Chapter 6

Char Aznable found going through his morning routine without Garma to be more jarring than he'd imagined. His new roommate wouldn't talk to him and Char had to look at the name tag on his bunk to find it out.

PT formation was arranged by last name, so Garma and Char had never been near each other to begin with. Garma was an "A" group runner and Char was a "C" so Char didn't see Garma during that morning's company run. At breakfast, Char maneuvered himself to a few spots in line after Garma, but the Zabi prince averted his eyes whenever Char was within his field of vision. This continued on for the rest of the day, although Garma very professionally answered Char's questions in class. Char expected a sarcastic tone or to be treated like an idiot, but Garma was apparently not going to stoop to that.

Somehow, that made it worse.

On the weekend, Garma still came up to the first-year's common room for the usual study session. "Look who's here!" Vieu Dang exclaimed. "We thought you were staying on the fourth-year floor for good. "

"Why'd you move down there anyway? Is it because you're an instructor in Piloting Skills?" Ubanda asked.

"That was part of it," Garma answered, pulling up a chair and sitting down with five other cadets between himself and Char. "Dad's never wanted me to be up here to begin with, and since some of my grades have been going down, Giren laid down the law and made me move to my own room. I'm next door to Gato, but he's getting ready for his last set of finals."

"No public appearances?" Char asked.

For the first time since Thursday night, Garma looked at him. His gaze was icy, but he didn't let that into his voice. "No, I waste too much time at home. I have an appearance tomorrow afternoon, so I'll get picked up early tomorrow so I can have breakfast and go to church with my dad. I'll be back right after I do my thing." He opened up his reading tablet. "What class are we going over first?"

Sunday evening, Garma had a task. Degin had given him a set of coordinated sheets, bedspread and rug in blue and gold, so Garma was painstakingly setting up his room to be personal yet ready to pass inspection. Once finished shaping the bedspread over the pillow _just so_, he settled down with a text and a tablet of paper to wait.

And he waited. The fourth-year floor was conspicuously quiet, so Garma stuck his head out after half an hour to notice that all the rooms were dark. Puzzled, he returned to his seat and kept up on his homework, rising every once in a while to pick up a miniscule piece of lint or tweak a corner of the bedspread.

When he finally did hear the senior cadets coming back in, Garma sprang to his feet eagerly, expecting Gato to come in and critique the appearance of his room. Instead, the only sign of Gato's presence was the sound of the older cadet locking their bathroom door from the inside before showering, followed by him unlocking it, going into his room, and locking it again. Garma shrugged mentally, reasoning that whatever meeting the fourth-years had been to wasn't something Gato wanted to discuss with a first-year.

Monday began much as Friday had, except that PT was muscle strength instead of running. After breakfast, Garma joined Gato in the ride out to the mobile suit hangar. The older man was uncharacteristically sullen and after five minutes of riding in silence, Garma asked, "Something's on your mind. What is it?"

Gato shook his head. "I shouldn't talk to you about it."

"Well now you're committed. If you'd said that you didn't want to talk about it, or that you couldn't talk about it it'd be one thing. But 'I shouldn't talk to you about it' tells me A, that you shouldn't talk about it but you want to and B, it has something to do with me."

Gato didn't say anything. He remained silent until they were in the hangar at the feet of one of the Zakus. He placed his hand against the massive foot and said, "Last night, we fourth-years were all given our orders. I've been assigned to the Royal Guard."

"Congratulations. Someone likes you. That's the highest prestige assignment in the Forces."

Gato's hand became a fist, still pressed against the Zaku's foot. "I don't _want_ a safe, high prestige post. I want to fly a Zaku. It's what I do, I love it and I'm the best there is at it."

Garma didn't know what to say. The Royal Guard was made up of excellent soldiers, but their duties were largely ceremonial. Since the advent of the Zaku, Degin had felt that there should be one mobile suit company assigned there to guard the palace complex and the capital city cylinder in general. In times of crisis it would be called into action and serve an important function, but unless such a crisis occurred, the tasks would be symbolic and dull. Garma had a further suspicion that Gato had been selected for both his formidable fighting skills and his good looks, since the Royal Guard was also highly visible.

"What were you hoping for?" Garma asked.

"There aren't a lot of mobile suit slots yet, but I was still hoping that I'd be assigned to a ship or one of the forward operating bases. Something where I might see action."

Garma frowned slightly in thought. "The downside of the Royal Guard is that you won't see action unless things really hit the fan. On the other hand, if an invasion gets to the point where the Royal Guard needs to be engaged, we'd want the best mobile suit pilots on the job."

"The best use for me would be making sure that an invasion doesn't go that far."

Garma didn't have anything to say about that. While the Mobile Suit Corps was going to be expanding rapidly in the Zeon military, Kishiria and Dozel had yet to enlighten him on what the exact role of the Corps would be. It occurred to him then that his older siblings themselves might not know.

Immediately, he realized that this wasn't a thought he should share with anyone.

"I agree with you," he told Gato. "I wouldn't give up hope of getting what you want, though. This technology is brand new, and you're going to be in demand shortly. Don't count on the Royal Guard as being on anything but a placeholder for you."

"I hope you're right," Gato told him.

"What's on the agenda for class today?" Garma asked.

"I've made the program for the simulators a lot more challenging," Gato told him, apparently eager to change the subject. "Now that the cadets have all had a turn piloting the Zaku, they think they're hot stuff. This should bring them all back to reality."

"Sounds fun. Show me?" Garma asked, and they went to the control booth to review what Gato had done.

Sitting in the booth of the simulator shortly after, Char Aznable could see the signs of Gato and Zabi having had way too much fun programming the simulators.

"What the-?"

"Bull-SHIT!"

"That was Van der Kampen," Garma muttered to Gato.

"Cadet Van der Kampen, losing military bearing. Give me 20."

Garma didn't tell Gato that Van der Kampen had almost won a competition. It was worth having heard the outburst.

"Zabi, come see this."

Garma spun his desk chair over to where Gato was watching a computer monitor. He leaned over Gato's shoulder to see that the older man was watching Char Aznable react to the program he and Garma had developed together. One half of the split screen showed the individual reactions and maneuvers Char was performing. The other half was divided vertically. The top gave an overhead shot of Char from over his shoulder, displaying the motions of his hands and feet. The other focused on Char's face.

Char was smiling a self-satisfied smile. His eyes were difficult to see behind his glasses, but their rapid motion was still noticeable. He knew he was performing well and he was having fun doing it.

"Look at his hands," Gato whispered. Garma leaned forward even more. He didn't have the real-life experience Gato did, but he still knew that this kind of quick reaction was something unusual.

Not knowing what else to say, Garma commented, "Good reflexes."

"Those are good reflexes," Gato agreed, then turned to Garma and added, "If you're one of the X-Men." He read the left side of the screen. "He's anticipating everything we throw at him by half a second. There! Did you see that? He hit the button to fire the suit's rifle when the ship he's facing was still opening the firing tube."

"Do you think he hacked into the program somehow?"

"It's on a portable drive, and I had it on me until I put it in the machine. Then you and I tinkered with it. I don't see how he could."

Garma thought of a joke about Char's skills with his hands but had enough self-control not to blurt it out. "Maybe he is some kind of mutant, and his eyes are just way better than ours."

"Then why does he wear glasses?"

Garma considered. "Come to think of it, he's never told me."

Gato glanced over at the simulators through the window of their booth. "End the program for the cadets who got killed. Take the data from their stations and get ready to AAR with them."

"What are you going to do?" The after-action review was usually Gato's job.

Gato grinned. "I'm going to take on Aznable, one on one. Wait till the other cadets are done. I want them all to see this."

Once the other cadets were finished with their exercises and given critiques, Gato said, "Since we still have time, I want to try something out. Cadet Aznable! You get back in your simulator. You're going to fight me."

"Cadet Cadre?"

"You pilot like you were born to do it. I want to see how much is skill and how much is raw talent. Cadet Zabi, put the simulator viewscreens on the big screen so everyone can see."

The artificial starfield Char had in front of him appeared overhead. The screen split vertically and a second image appeared alongside it. That was what Gato was seeing, and the view was more or less identical at the moment.

"Any preference for what colour you want your Zaku to be?" Garma asked.

"Grey," Gato answered.

"Red," Char responded.

"Cadet Zabi, this is looking too easy for me. Add in the minefield we uploaded yesterday."

A pattern of spherical objects appeared, suspended across the pilots' fields of vision. The simulated battlefield was finite, so that the minefield blocked out a large rectangle in the middle. There were asteroids on either side of the minefield with little room between them and the mines.

"Anything else, Cadet Gato?"

"Looks like fun to me so far."

"Gentlemen, load your ammo," Garma ordered. The display showed the virtual Zakus taking on the full complement of ammunition, plus the extra belt-carried magazines.

"Go," Garma told them.

Char's Zaku immediately zoomed to its right, seeking to circumvent the mine field. Gato's suit didn't move. Once Gato was apparently sure of what Char was doing, his grey Zaku advanced towards where Char was heading. Char took his Zaku "upward". At this point, Gato followed, machine gun in low-ready. Char kept going, trying to find a point where he could shoot at Gato without tripping off any of the mines. Gato tracked with him.

Suddenly, Char did fire off some rounds, and unbelievably, they had a clear path through the minefield. Gato's suit leapt away at the right moment, avoiding being hit. Gato continued in that direction, towards the asteroids. Char didn't follow, instead taking his suit "downward". Gato immediately reversed course, maximizing the speed with which he got there by springing off the asteroids.

Char opened fire on Gato. The feet of Gato's Zaku had just made contact with yet another asteroid, so Gato gave a short blast of his thrusters that twisted his Zaku to the underside of the rock. Char pursued, machine gun at the ready. Gato released three precise bursts into the minefield, which started detonating a line of mines right into Char's path. Char dodged right before the mine closest to him exploded, but in doing so, his Zaku was slammed upwards into an asteroid. The red Zaku and the rock reacted by flying in different directions. Char hit his boosters before landing in the minefield, but he ended up back in the asteroids again. He put the suit into acrobatics that would have had every servomotor screaming in mechanical agony in real life in order to reach the top of the usable area seen on screen.

There was a collective gasp from the entire class, along with a few mutters of "How did he do that?" Char pulled the Zaku out of its trajectory with visible effort and began weaving through the asteroid field again in pursuit of Gato.

Gato's grey Zaku stood its ground. It only moved when Char's mobile suit rounded the corner of the asteroid field, ducking in among the rocks. Char fired at its heels as it vanished behind cover, doing visible damage to the grey Zaku's right foot.

In the control booth, Garma was holding his breath. He was on the only one in the room who was able to see an outside view of the combat. Everyone else could only see the view from the two cockpits. Garma could see some of Gato's Zaku in the asteroids, and rotated the view until he could see clearly where it was placed. It was stretched out, perfectly motionless, with the machine gun ready to fire. Char apparently couldn't see it, because his red Zaku hung in place as Char decided what to do next.

Garma thought Char might pursue Gato into the asteroid field, but Char chose to circle it slowly, facing it at all times, weapon at the ready. He was parallel to the "top" of the minefield when Gato fired his Zaku's weapon. The mines detonated, but Gato had sufficient cover to stay protected. Char evaded the explosion by hitting the boosters in the same direction that the explosions' paths were taking. The center of the field was now clear of mines and the asteroids that had been reach of them were spinning.

Char re-appeared on the viewscreen. The asteroids were still bobbing like ice in a recently disturbed punchbowl, but Char could probably see through to them. He cautiously entered the empty part of the minefield, keeping his weapon trained on the rocks ahead.

Suddenly, Gato shoved himself free of the asteroids he'd been using for cover and came flying straight for Char. Char began firing, sending himself backwards as he did so. His attention was divided, though, and while he was hitting Gato's suit, he never struck the same point twice. Gato was only shooting sporadically, in the seconds during which Char was watching behind himself, not realizing that he was being steered right back towards the remaining portion of the minefield. The heel of his Zaku's left boot struck one mine, sending it in the opposite direction as the first explosion triggered others. Gato withdrew back towards the asteroids for a matter of seconds, then advanced again with every engine on high, firing on full-auto into the cockpit of Char's suit, causing it to explode.

Garma heard Char's roar of rage. He rolled out of his simulator, tearing his headset off, teeth bared. Gato emerged a moment later and stretched, then blotted perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. He noticed what he was doing, checked to make sure his sleeve wasn't visibly stained, then went over to Char, right hand extended.

Char took a deep breath and returned to himself. He shook Gato's hand, still scowling noticeably.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, Aznable," Gato assured him. "You are amazing. I've never seen reflexes like yours. Keep up the good work, and you'll be one of the best."

"I lost," Char growled.

"You lost to _me_. I've been training for four years, Aznable, and have used these things in combat. I give your performance here an A+."

Char was still visibly scowling, so Gato went on, "If you're going to be a great baby about all this, I can't teach you. Maybe this will. The rest of you go to the classroom to go over the recordings with Cadet Zabi. As for you, Aznable, drop."

Garma stepped down out of the booth and headed for the classroom. He did look over his shoulder in time to see Gato standing, hands on hips, over Char, who was doing the first ten of no doubt at least seventy pushups.

Later that evening, there was a knock at Garma's door. He opened to to find Gato outside.

"Cadet Zabi, I need to ask you something."

"Sure, come on in."

Gato did. Garma motioned him to the chair, but Gato said, "This won't take that long. I know you were Cadet Aznable's roommate. Has he always been that much of a sore loser?"

"Now, that you mention it, yes. I hadn't really thought of it that way before."

"Hm. It's a pity because he's a prodigy. His reflexes and basic skills are the best I've seen, and I only beat him because I have real-world experience. But if he's going to be bratty and a diva," Gato shook his head. "Don't get me wrong, pilots are supposed to be prima donnas, but he's not a pilot yet."

"He can act awfully entitled."

"I'm just worried if he's going to turn out to be the problem child of the Mobile Suit Corps. I suppose only time will tell, but..." His voice trailed off. "Well, I just wanted to know if my gut feeling was justified. Sounds like it is."

"I have to agree with you."

"Thanks. Well, that was it. I'll see you tomorrow."

Gato exited through the bathroom door. Garma dropped down heavily on his bed. Char was already starting to make enemies, it seemed. He had a moment of wondering how he could protect him, then quickly told himself he'd be an absolute fool to do so. All he'd be doing is trying to protect Char from himself, and he'd never grow up if Garma did that. He also didn't deserve the effort.

Having given himself that stern talking-to, Garma stood and went back to prepping a clean uniform for the morning.

Char Aznable, in the meantime, was working off his anger in the weight room. As he did bicep curls, he tried to calm the rage still roiling around in his stomach. _God damn that Gato, making me look bad in front of Garma!_ _I'll bet he did that on purpose. Probably wants Garma for himself, the bastard. I'll never let anyone beat me again like that._

_Never._

Early May came along with final exams. Garma made nightly appearances upstairs for study groups with the other cadets. Char hoped for a chance to banter with him, envisioning that renewing conversation might lead to an invite down to Garma's room for a more extended chat. It didn't happen. Garma was polite, but pointedly refused to discuss anything but school. At the end of the third session, as the cadets began to file back to their rooms for lights-out, Garma took Char's elbow and steered him aside.

"I know what you're trying to do, Char, and it's not going to work."

"Why, what am I trying to do?"

"Don't act stupid. Our friendship is over. From now on, it's strictly professional and don't even think about trying to make it social."

Char laughed, that mocking laugh all of the cadets had heard from time to time. Usually Garma would back down, admitting that he was being foolish.

"Stop it, Char. Everybody's looking at you."

Char did. He realized that he'd broken some social rule, but didn't know what it was. The mystery was explained when Vieu Dang came over and pushed Char's shoulder.

"Leave him alone."

"I'm just trying to talk to him."

"And he doesn't want to talk to you. Giren told us all what you did, and it's not like we all couldn't see it."

Garma turned. "Giren told you guys about-," he caught himself before saying, "_about us_" and changed it quickly to, "why he sent me downstairs?"

"What did he say?" Char asked.

Vieu Dang's eyes flicked between the two of them. "He told us that you'd been hanging around Zabi because he has money and you could get him to buy you stuff because he needed you for his grades."

Char and Garma exchanged a glance. "I did buy you a lot of stuff, but I didn't see it as you using me until Giren told me. I'm stupid that way."

"Well," said Char. "I guess you all are right. I won't bother you any more, Zabi. Sorry I tried to talk to you." He picked up his materials and went down the hall.

Later that night as his roommate snored, Char lay on his back, seething. _Well played, Giren Zabi, well played, _ he thought to himself. _Just enough truth to make it all believable but sparing me the role of the jilted lover, thus putting me in your debt even as you split me up from Garma. I'll get extra revenge for that, you bastard._

Downstairs, Garma was sitting in his armchair, wrapped in a throw blanket. He couldn't sleep and didn't want to just lie in bed. On one hand, he was glad Giren had stepped in to quash any rumours going around about why he and Char had moved apart. On the other, he wasn't sure his entire class had to know anything beyond that this was what the palace wanted.

Char's clumsy attempt to warm up to him had infuriated Garma, since it meant Char either didn't understand or didn't care about what he'd done to wrong Garma. And Char _had_ been using Garma, Garma had been too blinded to see it. At least people thought Char had only used him for material gain. If they knew Char had been leading Garma around by the prick, Garma didn't think he'd have been able to endure the humiliation. No doubt that had been one of Giren's intentions, to spare Garma embarrassment.

Garma pulled his knees up to his chin and sobbed for a while in anger, grief and, strange to his thinking, more than a little hatred.

Exams were a mess. The instructors made it very clear that the new "MOS essentials only" curriculum confused them as much as their cadets through the essay questions. Years later, Char would remember sitting in a lecture hall with a paper blue book in front of him, wondering if the officer who had once been their history teacher but who now had to discuss the role of mobile suits in recent events wanted more history in what seemed to be a theory question or more theory in what the officer would have preferred to have been a history question.

Finally, the Thursday that was the last day of exams struck. Cadets from Zum City had weekend passes, so Garma quietly returned home. Dozel was back from his latest deployment, so Garma anticipated spending more time with him than with Giren.

Alas, that was not to be. "He wants time alone with Zena," Garma groused as he sat in Giren's and Cecilia's dining room, using his fork to sort through the vegetables in the Indian curry Cecilia had made.

"There is an old 20th century saying, 'Bros before hos'," Giren told him.

"What's that mean?"

"'Bros' for brothers, be they by blood or by choice. 'Hos' seems to be a short form of 'whores' but can refer to any woman one holds in contempt because of said 'bro's' preference for same."

"I wouldn't call Zena that, Giren, but you always have time for me."

"I think that's because he has me every night," Cecilia put in. "It shouldn't be a special event for a man to spend time with his wife, but it is for Dozel." She lay her hand over Giren. "I've often thought about how glad I am we don't have to be apart like that."

Giren took her hand in his and kissed it. Garma looked away.

Sunday morning, Garma was again delivered to his father. They had breakfast and then went to Mass together. Garma sat glumly beside the Sovereign and watched Cardinal O'Rourke go through her paces. Being a priest might not be such a bad option, he thought. It'd certainly render life a lot simpler.

Char, in the meantime, spent the two nights he had free picking up dark-haired women in bars and fucking them savagely in his hotel room. Each time, he found himself frustrated, confused and disappointed, as the "something" he'd felt after sex with Garma just...wasn't there. He hadn't even noticed what that "something" was until he didn't have it.

He returned to the barracks Sunday afternoon to a letter from his uncle.

_Nephew._

(No "dear" beforehand. This was going to be bad.)

_How disappointed I am that you are not able to maintain friendships. When you returned to Zeon you had all the social tools to make friends and shine like the sun in Zum City society. The affection you had from the prince filled me with hope that you might find yourself in the circle of the royal family itself. _

_I've read in all available sources that Garma is given to kindness and friendliness. How could you have lost his? Did you truly behave so abominably to impel such a young man to reject you?_

_You have failed. It is imperative that you repair this relationship in order to bring you into the very centre of Zeon power, the place you were born to be._

_Keep us informed._

Char gritted his teeth. He yanked the chair away from his desk, ignoring the scrape and bang of the wooden legs on the floor. He dropped down onto the thinly padded wood and pulled a sheet of paper and an envelope from a drawer. He began writing in his elongated European hand:

_"Dear Uncle J. Prince Garma acted like a spoiled rich boy. Tired of me, he set me aside for other, more interesting friends. I am humiliated and now understand more than ever all that you taught me."_

He tapped his pen against his chin and kept writing.

_I am working to win him back. Currently, he is being inaccessible, but I have plans. When has it been that when I put my mind to a task I didn't achieve it? Graduation for the class of '78 is day after tomorrow. I am hoping that serving as ushers will give me a chance to break the ice with him again._

Char put in a few chatty paragraphs about his grades and sports participation, then sealed it up and got it ready to mail.

The next day was dominated by two things: briefings and rehearsals for the graduation, and packing to leave for the summer. Graduation/end of semester started early, with the first-year cadets gathering at the football stadium to be handed stacks of programs and to run through their assignments. The senior cadets were sleeping in or taking leisurely breakfasts. When Garma left, Anavel Gato was just coming back from an early-morning run and heading into the shower. The snowy white uniform he'd wear for graduation and never again was hanging in his locker.

Char, Garma, and the dozen or so cadets left in the mobile suit corps were assigned to the seating reserved for the families of the mobile suit cadets who were graduating. Char handed programs to people who were all wearing their best, even if their best was obviously purchased just for the event from the colonies' lower-end department stores.

One notable exception was a couple in their early 60s. The woman was in a tidy pantsuit with a knee-length jacket, her salt-and-pepper hair shoulder-length and neatly coiffed. Her husband was in the uniform of a lower rear admiral, and Char recognized his unit patch as that of a reserve unit. A moment later, he saw that the man's name plate read "GATO".

_Shit. I see what's going on here. Not only did Giren Zabi have me and Garma separated, he's put Garma next door to a worthier suitor. Son of an admiral, their families probably have cocktails together. And a war hero at 21. I'm so fucked. _

Garma was on the other side of the aisle from Char. If he did indeed know the Gatos he didn't show it, showing the same courtesy and smile to everyone he seated in his section.

Once the families were seated, there wasn't much to do beyond watch the ceremony. Char expected to be bored stiff, but the entry of the white-clad cadets with their "flying saucer" service caps, that no member of the Zeon forces ever wore outside of this, was finely planned spectacle. Dozel Zabi was the main speaker, with General Vanderwyck as master of ceremonies. Once the cadets were seated though, it did get somewhat dull. Char didn't know any of the valedictorians or award-winning cadets except for Gato, and Char had decided already that he hated Gato and couldn't wait to see his obituary. Given his delight in combat, Char didn't think it would take long.

Awards were given out, Dozel spoke, the cadets lined up to get their diplomas and shake Dozel's hand, they put on their Academy rings and threw their flat caps in the air upon being declared officers. Then came the chore of making sure all the happy families exited the bleachers in an orderly fashion and headed off in the correct direction to the reception. The junior cadets were then dismissed for lunch in the dining hall, as usual.

Garma didn't go with them. He was given permission to have lunch with Dozel.

"Your grades are up," Dozel observed as he lifted a bruschetta toast onto his plate.

"I thought they were, but I haven't seen the results from my finals yet."

"You did fine. Solid B+ work. You'd probably do better if you didn't have to make public appearances."

"Giren always told me, 'Remember, Garma, B stands for bad. A stands for acceptable'."

"Yes, well, I always wondered how you managed not to be crazy with him as your tutor so much of the time."

"Oh, it's for the best. If he didn't inspire me to be competitive, I might just hang around in my room playing guitar and smoking pot all day."

"I don't think Dad would have stood for that. He'd have sent you to Servite instead." Servite was the strict all-male private school Dozel had attended. "Anyway, you've always known your own mind. You knew you wanted mobile suits." He paused to thank the waiter for refilling his wine glass. "I hear very, very good things about you as an instructor. We might put you to that after you graduate."

"A little premature, don't you think? I'm only at the end of my first year."

"It never hurts to plan ahead. The Zaku II is almost ready, and you'll be getting the manuals and simulators for that as soon as your class lets out.

"That's this afternoon. My driver will be here at 1600."

"Sounds like you'll have a summer job, then, doesn't it?"

That didn't sound promising. After lunch, Garma returned to the barracks to change into civilian clothes and make sure the last packing was done. He was going up the steps when Gato came up behind him.

"Good afternoon there, Lieutenant Junior Grade," Garma said, saluting him. Gato had graduated a rank ahead due to his existing military record.

Gato returned the salute and took off his cap as they entered the lobby. "Thank you, cadet. I can tell that having to return salutes is going to grow old, very quickly."

"I had lunch with my brother Dozel."

Gato stopped and backed up to the wall so they wouldn't be blocking anyone's way. "Oh?"

"He told me I have to get ready for the Zaku II. Any ideas?"

"I've flown one, and it was dreamy. I think the II is going to be around for a long, long time. I have almost no complaints about it."

They continued chatting about the Zaku II for a few minutes. Garma eventually checked his watch and said, "I have to go. My driver will be here soon."

"And my parents are waiting. I'll be living with them until I rent my own place. I don't intend for that to take long."

"Well, Lieutenant Gato, it was a pleasure."

"Indeed it was." They shook hands and to Garma's surprise, Gato put a hand on his shoulder as they walked down the hall.

They didn't see Char Aznable lurking behind them, watching them leave. Char wasn't permitted in the fourth-year hall, so he was unable to do anything more than visually follow them with hate in his eyes. His worst fears were realized; Gato's hand on Garma's shoulder and the way they had been looking at each other confirmed it for him.

An image of Garma and Gato seeped into Char's mind and he couldn't dismiss it. It wasn't an image of Garma talking to Gato as he'd just observed, but Garma, post-coitus, lying in Gato's arms, the eyes of both of them glazed with pleasure. Char clenched his fists and walked away, planning on a long session with the heavy bag in the gym.

Summer in Zum City. Garma woke up the Wednesday morning after the semester's end to morning light and birdsong. The breeze was cool on his shoulder. The only thing he wanted was to be able to roll over and see Char lying beside him, the light on his face-

Time to get up. He stood and walked resolutely to his dresser. He didn't feel like shaving, so he didn't. Dressed in a t-shirt, shorts and barefoot, he went to the kitchen to make coffee and have cereal.

He played guitar for a while, wincing because his calluses had softened up from lack of playing. The apartment felt too big, so he sat down at his piano and starting playing randomly in an A key, because that felt melancholy enough to be in line with his emotions.

He missed Char, even if Char had been using him. Perhaps it hadn't been deliberate on Char's part; orphan that he was, it was possible he didn't have what a musician friend of Garma's referred to as "being human" skills. The thing was, the same friend also talked about how the only way to get "being human" skills was by deciding to learn them. If Char wasn't willing to do that, there was nothing Garma could do about it.

It was 11 in the morning and Garma decided it wasn't too early to see if the bars were open.

By Friday, Garma had had enough. Being drunk before noon lost its appeal the second time he did it. His friends had day jobs and couldn't always get together to play music in the evenings. So Friday afternoon he called Dozel and asked if there was any chance starting his summer job.

"Besides opening malls, I mean," Garma said.

"Funny you should mention that," Dozel said. "I was going to call you to strongly suggest you go back to the Academy and start checking out the Zaku II simulators."

"I could do that," Garma told him.

"That's good news," Dozel said. "I know you have work to do this weekend, but we'll talk about you moving back to the Academy grounds on Monday."

Sure enough, by Monday evening, Garma was settling into a room back in the Mobile Suit barracks. The second and third year students shared a floor below the first-years. Rooms were still shared, but civilian bedding was allowed if it was conservative and kept neat. As the sun faded, Garma made his bed with the same blue linens he'd used downstairs. He sat at the desk with his reading tablet and started going over the design of the Zaku II.

It was silent. Tomblike. There was no CQ downstairs; the doors were locked from the inside and Garma had the key. He could have moved into the first floor, he reflected, but that just didn't feel like the right thing to do. He turned on some music and went back to his reading.

The next morning he drove to the mobile suit schoolhouse. He planted himself in one of the simulators and started working through the basic launch sequence. The cockpit was much more intuitive and more of the controls were incorporated into single commands. The viewscreens displayed views from more cameras over the machine's body. He quickly became absorbed in his work, and by Wednesday he was starting to go through basic combat scenarios.

Meanwhile, on another Zeon colony cylinder called Windemere, Char was finding his life to be as meaningless as Garma's had been in that first week. Jinba Ral had deposited a lump sum into his bank account to see him through the summer and he'd paid three months upfront for a tiny furnished one-bedroom apartment. Windemere was a cylinder located equidistant between four others and served as a suburb for all of them. The colony was one big grid of greenspace, shopping malls and residential neighbourhoods. It was inexpensive to live there and bachelor apartments were the cheapest residences available in a neighbourhood where the citizens were able to walk around at night.

Char bought a gym membership and spent his days there. His evenings were spent in front of the television watching sports or hanging around at bars full of young professionals, picking up women.

The Sunday evening news was his bane. Although he knew he would always be snake-bitten by it, Char always watched, and Char always saw Garma sometime during the broadcast. When he did, Char's throat closed up and hurt and an emotion that was half hate and half grief filled his chest so he couldn't breathe.

The first Sunday was the worst. Garma visited a school for young musicians and it was obvious that he was actually interested in them and what they had to show him, that they had things to talk about and that Garma _cared._

Char hated that with every ounce of his being, to the point that he found himself sobbing on his knees in front of the television. He betook himself and a bottle of scotch to a hot bathtub for the solitary comforts he could take there.

He wanted the next semester to be there. He wanted to leave this lonely apartment and go back to the rules and restrictions of the Academy where he could work with mobile suits and not have to think about anything in the outside world.

On the third Wednesday after they started their break, Char got his wish.

"We're starting another semester?" Garma exclaimed as he was having lunch again with Dozel.

"You're to graduate in December. For the next six months, you cadets are going to be doing nothing but combat skills. Mobile suit mostly but also in the field."

Garma sighed. "I knew something was up. The speed with which we got the Zaku II simulators, the way I was told I should go learn them...I hoped you just wanted me up to speed as an instructor. Now I understand why."

Dozel nodded as he took another forkful of the family-sized lasagne in front of him. "I hope we won't be at war with Earth too soon, but you read the news. You know what's going on with the economic sanctions and blockades and all. They have no goddamn right to block ships between Side 6 and Side 3 and they do anyway."

Garma sipped his iced tea. "What's Giren up to? I see him, but he never talks about what he does at work."

"I'm not sure myself, which is wrong. Giren's not the monarch, Dad is, and I think that Dad is starting to cede way too much power to him."

When Garma returned from work that evening, the front door of his barracks were unlocked and there was a sergeant at the CQ desk. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Didn't you check your e-mail today?"

"No, I work in the Mobile Suit schoolhouse, and I don't check it while I'm there."

"Check it. You've got orders. Your whole class does."

Garma ran upstairs and logged into his Academy e-mail. At the top of his inbox was a link to a document reading, **You are ordered to report to the Zeon Armed Forces Academy on June 20, 0078 for supplemental MOS training...**

"It's started," he murmured to himself.

The following Monday, Van Kamper volunteered to be Garma's roommate on the second-year floor. Aznable was down the hall with some fourth-year Garma didn't know who was going to be cadet cadre in the fall. The top floor was occupied by Beast Barracks cadets whose panicked footsteps racing down the stairs woke them up six days a week. The unplanned and surrealistic summer session had begun.


End file.
